On The Other Side
by Off Dreaming
Summary: The grass is always greener on the other side. According to Draco, it's a load of hippogriff excrement, especially now that the Little Greengrass Brat has nosed her way into their plan. Nott did always say it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for... DISCONTINUED. SORRY!
1. Chapter 1: The Greengrass Debacle

_Author's Note: Well, I should really be focusing on finishing writing "The Reign of Kellyn Wood" and beginning its epilogue (tentatively titled "Platforms"), but this popped into my head and I can't get it out. So really, I have no choice but to write it. This is my first Draco/Astoria fanfic. I wanted to write something that shows some of their interactions in school and how they eventually fell in love and got married. At least I would like to think there is love in their relationship. Astoria Greengrass is quite the wild card in the HP fanfic world, considering we know almost nothing about it. This is my take on her. Why these characters, you ask, considering that they are not exactly likeable? Let's all face it: these Slytherins are not exactly nice people and they are certainly not like the endearing characters in "The Reign of Kellyn Wood." But they are really interesting and they change so much in the face of the war. I don't want people to like them, I just want to present them as how they were. I am trying to stick to cannon as much as possible, but I have expanded the characters of the Slytherins to give them more depth. A bully isn't just a bully. The grass is always greener on the other side. And things look different from the other side. And that story is worth telling. I hope you all enjoy this and leave a review letting me know what you think. A full summary is below. Thanks everyone!_

_-Off Dreaming_

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Full Summary:

_Upon entering his seventh year, Draco Malfoy was pretty much oblivious to the existence of the younger Greengrass sister, a scrawny, unremarkable fifth year by the name of Astoria. Then again, it was always the quiet ones you had to worry about._

_Astoria Greengrass just wanted to get her older sister Daphne and her through the school year unharmed. Then bloody Zabini had to rope her into his, Nott's, and Malfoy's little scheme. Any Slytherin knows that when an opportunity is offered, you take it. She just did not expect it to be like this._

_Told from alternating perspectives beginning in the year the Carrows taught at Hogwarts and ending a few years after the war, I present a tale of snarky comebacks, unloveable characters, and powerful prejudices. However, someone has to tell the story of the other side._

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ON THE OTHER SIDE

_Chapter 1: The Greengrass Debacle_

He knew her—by name and by face, but if you had asked Draco Malfoy about Astoria Greengrass, he probably would have looked surprised, mildly peeved, and then dryly inquired if the younger Greengrass was being problematic. He would have then added, since she was only a fifth year and the only time he had seen her was curled up in the common room with her nose in a book, that he was unacquainted with her, but she appeared as harmless as a fly and just as invisible as one too, and therefore there was no need to continue the conversation since there was little to say about her.

Which was rather true. But then again, by his seventh year he was realizing that he was not a very good judge of character. This suspicion was confirmed as he glanced around the cabin on the Hogwarts Express.

Pansy Parkinson was sitting next to him and carefully not revealing that his touch made it difficult for her to hate him. And she did her best to hate him, considering they were sort of "together" the past two years and he hadn't written to her all summer. But frankly, he was a little more concerned about keeping his family alive, his ass relatively unscathed, and ignoring the screams in the dungeon of the Malfoy manor to bother scrawling about the flowering begonias in the garden and other trite nonsense. He had liked her once upon a time: her sharp features were pretty and the way that she could scathingly raise an eyebrow in derision was most admirable. She had a Pureblood grace about her and she was delightfully original in her insults, which actually made him smile. In the time they spent together, he knew her quite well: he knew that she liked unicorns and the whimsical desire to see one was the only reason why she took Care of Magical Creatures for so long, and he knew that she hated her mother for treating her like a breakable doll all her life when she was fairly indestructible.

So, he did like her, but she was needy, grabby, and showy and he could not handle that anymore, not after his disastrous sixth year and being locked up in his own manor all summer. Also, he hated the way she always agreed with him; it grew unattractively dull. Rather than simply telling her his grievances, he decided to ignore her. It was a rather bitch move, but he was Draco Fucking Malfoy and he felt it was undignified to explain to a girl—especially one as dramatic as Pansy—why she was unsuitable for him. But then again, he knew that she already realized she was not going to get much out of him, considering that had been the theme of their relationship.

What had taken him a long time to understand about Pansy was that she lacked self-confidence and because of that, attached herself to people in power. In Slytherin terms, this was actually considered a smart idea as it usually assured self-preservation, but the catch was that she struggled to keep up with them. Also, he knew that she was terribly spiteful and too much in love with him (whatever that meant) to let him get away with treating her so poorly. She probably had something up her sleeve for him that year.

However, the person who more worried him was Theodore Nott, the quiet son of a Death Eater who was the only one of the 7th year Slytherin males to not take the Dark Mark. He was solitary and quiet; Draco never quite liked him, offended and slightly intimidated by the fact that Nott was probably smarter than him. Draco knew that he had been raised by his Death Eater father and could see the thestrals by the time he was in fifth year; it was wildly speculated for a few weeks what horror he had seen until while finishing up his essay on thestrals, he casually mentioned that he sat with his mother on her deathbed and then inquired if anyone knew what was for dinner that night. Despite his solidarity, everyone respected him and knew that he had an arsenal of dirt on everyone that prevented them from crossing him. Nonetheless, Draco regarded him as an equal. If he needed an honest opinion, he would ask Nott; or even better, if he needed a hard-to-come-by book, he would always go to Nott, considering the young man was practically a cache of rare and dark material. As Blaise Zabini would say, the man knew his shit.

But that was the way of Blaise Zabini: dangerously understating everything. He was as dangerous as Slytherins came because he felt a certain disregard rules and had a superiority complex that put Draco's former ego to shame. He had taken the Mark that summer simply because he was tired of being under-appreciated, unvalued, and not taken seriously. With dramatics like that, Draco was more convinced that he and Parkinson should just shack up sometime and call it a day. Yet, Blaise was probably his closest friend because he was a talker. He was a smooth talker, an incessant talker, a dangerous talker… he could be crass, juvenile, clever, and even occasionally wax philosophy if drunk enough. However, he could be very aloof to anyone he did not consider of remote equality to him—this constituted as very few people. Also, he was extraordinarily vain and considered himself Hogwarts' resident Sex God. But, he did not bother thinking too far ahead when he took the Mark and had only just realized that he could not go philandering around with the sign of the Death Eaters burned onto his arm. He seemed to be avoiding girls and this only made him more mysterious. It was like the man could do no wrong in the female population's eyes.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, however, were a different story. Neither were easy on the eye in any shape or form and it was quite obvious that only their blood got them Sorted into Slytherin. They were just about as stupid as they came, but Draco knew better than to underestimate them. Crabbe had talked back to him during the Vanishing Cabinet fiasco and it was then, after six years of "friendship" that Crabbe was perhaps not quite as dumb as a troll and maybe, he wanted power and prestige for his family just as Draco desired this for his. Despite the fact that he was more of a follower than a friend, Draco did know him rather well. He was always surprised by his soft voice and he had a Crup—a wizard-bred dog that resembles a Jack Russel Terrier except for the fact that it has a forked tail—that he was particularly fond of and kept a photo of the creature at his bedside.

Goyle was perhaps more stupid and less interesting than Crabbe. Fortunately for Draco, he was far more subservient than Crabbe; unfortunately, he was far more cowardly. However, sometimes felt a bit of pity for Goyle because… well, he was almost so stupid it was a bit sad with the way he would say "Diss-Lusion Charms" instead of "Disillusionment Charms." It was not his fault that his parents were too proud to hire a special tutor for the dull boy.

Draco always had control over them, or at least leverage, and now with the Malfoy reputation on the line, suddenly the two dumbasses were becoming increasingly useful to the Dark Lord. They had an affinity to the Cruciatus Curse that positively sickened and intrigued Draco. Their beliefs in pureblood supremacy—the natural order of things—were also extremely strong. There was not a doubt in their head that would render any of the Dark Lord's ideals prove contrary. Then again, there was hardly a thought in their head most of the time.

Millicent Bullstrode was the Crabbe and Goyle of the 7th year Slytherin girls, except with perhaps a little more brain power. Now, she was really a pity and Draco sometimes wondered why she did not just throw herself off the Astronomy Tower. After all, her roommates were Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass—all three (especially Greengrass) were nice to look at and all three were clever in their own way. Millicent—or Millie, as the girls called her when they felt like being nice—was neither pretty nor astonishingly cunning. She served her purpose, though, and gave the girls a little bit of brawn. In her fifth year, she had a crush on Draco because they often worked shifts in the Inquisitorial Squad together. Draco was positively mortified by it and Pansy seemed to find it hilarious for about a week before coolly giving Millie directions to the Astronomy Tower and saying that the probability of her surviving a fall from there was about equal to the chances of Draco ever returning feelings for her and if she felt like testing her theory, she would not put up a fuss. Draco never had problems with her after that.

Tracey Davis was probably the most truly Slytherin of the girls—she almost had to be, considering that she was only a half-blood. This was greatly frowned upon until it turned out that she was astonishingly cunning and intelligent. She constantly rivaled Nott and Draco for top marks in their House and she was exceptionally ambitious, determined to work in the Department of Mysteries. If Nott had a friend, it was probably in her; they were constantly studying together, even if they rarely spoke to each other otherwise. She was apparently very good at chess and Pansy often cited her as the mastermind behind some of the Slytherin girls' usual tricks on the Gryffindor. The odd thing was that she was never the face of the crimes and that made her even more cunning; Draco reluctantly admired that about her.

On the other hand, Draco admired Daphne Greengrass' ass and tits. Both were pleasingly big and there was not a mistake a man could find in her figure. Her blonde hair fell down in soft, angelic curls; she had a pert chin, skin like porcelain, and the trademark Greengrass celery green eyes. Her curves were perfectly admirable, even if her cunning left something to be desired. She was notorious for not being able to keep her mouth or legs shut. There was a softness about her—and it was not just her boobs or ass—something that made her a little vulnerable and a little too easily swayed. She was actually nice, though, unlike the rest of the Slytherins. It was what set her apart from them: she was kind, optimistic, and she actually believed in true, passionate, altruistic love. Pansy often called her delusional, but was her best friend all the same.

And apparently, Daphne had a younger sister named Astoria. But he really only found this remotely interesting much later. In fact, it was that day on the Hogwarts Express that he finally saw an ounce of Astoria's capabilities. Little did he know, she would irrevocably change everything.

* * *

Astoria Greengrass made her way though the Hogwarts Express, trying to find a cabin. She was not exactly sure where to sit and could not find her fellow Slytherins, who were excellent at hiding away from the Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws. She smoothed her green tie and continued to walk, her straight brown hair neatly pinned back and celery green eyes scanning for an open nook or cabin. She saw a burst of red and immediately recognized it as Weaselette. Longbottom was with her, along with a few other meddlesome Gryffindors. However, three members of their crowd were notably missing: Scarhead Potter, Weaselbee, and Mudblood Granger. Weaselette looked forlorn—rumor had it that she and Pottyhead were involved last year. (Cue vomit.)

"What are you looking at, Snake?" the Weaselette asked when she looked up to see Astoria's uncomfortable gaze. Astoria resented the impersonal nickname and ignored the question to propose one of her own.

"Where's Potter?"

"Oh, wouldn't _you_ like to know?" Weaselette snarled.

"Ginny, don't—" Longbottom began to assuage her, already quite familiar with Weaselette's infamous temper. Her Bat-Bogey Hex was particularly potent (Malfoy apparently knew from experience) and Astoria would not have minded asking for tips if the Weaselette was not a) a Weasley blood-traitor, b) down-right annoying, or c) a Gryffindor. The Weaselette continued to give her unsolicited rant. Astoria sighed in aggravation.

"Wouldn't _everyone_ like to know where the hell Potter is? And Granger and Weasley too? Wouldn't everyone like to know _where_ they are?" she cried out, growing redder by the minute. It was an astounding phenomenon.

"Potter isn't here," Longbottom resolutely said, standing up decidedly and putting a comforting hand on Weaselette's shoulder. "None of them are here." Astoria eyed them carefully, trying to figure out if they were lying. The Gryffindors, however, seemed to be telling the truth. (To a Snake? _Shocking…_)

"What more do you want?" the Weaselette protested, her chin stubbornly jutted out.

"You look lost," Astoria simply commented. She said it without compassion or sympathy, but also without a sneer or derision. It was neutral and cold, an unbiased observation. Something flashed across Weaselette's face as she examined Astoria.

"And you look the same." Weaselette could be spiteful, but she was brutally honest. Astoria fixed her usual expression on her face—cool, bored, impassive, and unapproachable—and was about to turn and away when she saw that the Gryffindors' jaws had fallen open. Astoria wrinkled her freckle-dusted nose and turned around to see the perpetrator of personal hygiene.

It was Amycus Carrow. She should have known—the man was about as afraid of soap as Professor Snape was of shampoo. At least Professor Snape was exceptionally brighter, despite his feigned disinterest.

"Why are you talking to these miscreants?" Astoria had to hold back her sneering inquiry how Amycus had mastered such a big-boy word. The man's blood was not even close to being as pure as hers and she always gathered from parties that the Carrows were only marginally more intelligent than the Crabbes and Goyles.

"Simply laughing in passing," Astoria replied while checking her nails, keeping her eyes low. No need for him to know who she was…

Amycus found this to be an acceptable answer and gave a nod before asking the same question she had asked just a minute before.

"Where's Potter?" All the Gryffindors stood up, chins high.

"He's not here," was their proud, strong reply. Astoria slipped out of the cabin, determined to get as far away from them and the male Carrow as possible.

It was awhile before she found an empty seat in an empty corner. She opened her book—well, it was actually her sister's N.E.W.T level Charms book that had a plethora of information on Memory Charms—only to realize that she would have to relinquish her oasis on the Hogwarts Express. For, inside the book, was a letter to Daphne from her mum, who had mistakenly put the letter in there hoping that Daphne would find it. Of course, that would require Daphne actually opening the book, which was an improbability. Astoria sighed, shut the book, and stood up to find her sister to deliver the letter. It was meant to be read on the train, obviously.

Their cabin was open, which surprised Astoria, thinking how they were usually a secretive bunch: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bullstrode, Tracey Davis, and her own sister, Daphne Greengrass. They were as shady as they came and she never liked that her sister clung to the power-hungry buffoons. Daphne was not made to survive living alongside such callous, conniving people. Astoria was the black sheep of the family who was on the brink of being Sorted into Ravenclaw; only the Sorting Hat knew what would have been Daphne's second choice if she was not of pure blood. Daphne was certainly no Slytherin in the ways of cunning or ambition, but Astoria loved her. Family loyalty was the only sort of Slytherin loyalty; it was a matter of blood, like all things. The only reason why Daphne clung to them was out of self-preservation; her younger sister could not protect her all the time and if Daphne was not with the rest of the 7th year Slytherins, she was against them.

It was rather brazen of them to keep the door open. Just because their families were of Pureblood (with the exception of Davis) and their parents were loyal servants to the Dark Lord did not mean that their necks were well-protected. It was far too bold to leave the door open. Either Zabini got careless or they had a plan… or they were saving face and talking about the weather.

"It's bloody cold," Pansy murmured. No one seemed to care.

"Oy, you," Zabini called out to Astoria, who kept her eyes down. "Here's a Galleon, go get the lady something warm from the food cart." Astoria caught the coin with a sneer and the words slipped out before she could stop them. How dare Zabini speak to her as if she was a nobody?

"Careful Zabini," she said lowly, turning the coin over in her hand. "Gryffindors value chivalry. Wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea, would we?" She kept her eyes low and could hear her sister suck in her breath. Damn her big mouth…

"Excuse me?" Zabini asked, truly shocked. They were all staring at her now. All the self-preservation warnings went out the window and suddenly, she was fucked. With nothing left to lose, she continued.

* * *

"I believe the minimum requirement for fetching food is two legs and at least a half a brain, and seeing how you most likely meet both requirements, you can go get the food yourself," the mystery girl dryly retorted, flipping the coin back to Zabini.

Draco had tuned out of their conversation, disinterested in what they had to say. There were too many people to really talk about what needed to be said, too many pawns on his chess board. Or maybe it was Nott's chess board. Or maybe they were all equally fucked. That was probably it.

Fifth year had been the height of Draco Malfoy's reign. He was handsome, rich, Pureblood, smart, arrogant, blah blah blah… the description of his excellence was infinite. He was a paragon of perfection, a figure of flawlessness, a picture of precision. He was Draco Fucking Malfoy and he was wonderful, Potter was but a mere nuisance, and the Dark Lord was benevolent toward the Malfoy family. At the end of his fifth year, the shit hit the chandelier when his father botched the Ministry Job and the world as he knew it took a sharp downward spiral.

That summer, his dear Auntie Bellatrix gleefully cackled as the Dark Mark took shape on his arm. During sixth year, he became only a shadow of his former self: he was withdrawn, quiet, disinterested in Quidditch and his studies, he did not take advantage of his Prefect duties, he reluctantly ignored Potter, and Snape's meddling annoyed the hell out of him.

The man did save his ass in the end.

That school year, he followed in his father's footsteps and failed to do the Dark Lord's bidding. He cried in front of Moaning Myrtle, stupid Potter marred him, he repaired a Vanishing Cabinet, he let Fenrir Greyback and a group of Death Eaters into the castle, and he choked when trying to kill Dumbledore. The old coot died anyway by Severus Snape's wand and he suddenly found himself a prisoner in his own house.

And in another year, things had changed again. Now he was a seventh year and had endured a summer of mockery and servitude. The Death Eaters had set up base in his house, they openly ridiculed his family, the Dark Lord had taken his father's wand, and he had watched several people be killed and had been forced to torture others. The whole affair sickened him; school was a bit of a relief because he would not be subjected to watch his family continue to lose their superior reputation.

There was no swagger in his step, no drive to bully, no energy to smirk and joke; there was nothing to suggest he was the fifth year who held all the power of Hogwarts in his hands. Once a ruler of Hogwarts, now the Dark Lord's personal, pathetic puppet. What a coward he had become.

That summer, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken the Mark. Draco thought it was only a matter of time before Nott was coerced into following, but he seemed to stand strong on his own. Nott came with his Death Eater father to the Malfoy Manor one day that summer and the two young men were able to take a turn around the garden, watching the albino peacock sorrowfully circle the grounds. They did not talk about much, both fearing that their words would be overheard and misinterpreted. At last, Nott did say something of meaning. Well, cryptic meaning. But 'cryptic' was about as simple as Nott was.

"I was reading a most provocative book in the past week," he began. Only Nott would use the word 'provocative' to mean 'causing interesting thoughts' rather than the sexual connotation of the word. Nott was too busy to read books of that sort. "In said book, the protagonist was indoctrinated by a most perplexing psychological profile that was considered a hazy gray in his black and white society. Instead of being loyal to a cause or to a person, he was loyal to himself. He was dedicated to his own existence and only occasionally those that aided in his survival. Quite a radical notion, wouldn't you say?" he murmured inquisitively.

"Radical indeed," Draco hissed, frightened that someone would overhear.

"But it's just a silly little book," Nott said, seizing Draco's left arm to pick a piece of lint on the sleeve. As he did so, Nott met Draco's gaze. "Just a silly, introspective book."

That was all that Draco needed convincing that Nott had an idea about how to get them through the year without being killed by their Master. Well, Nott had no master, but he was smart enough to know that he was still subject to His control.

And now, there was a mysterious girl who had just told off Zabini and all pretenses of control had been thrown out the window. He had not really noticed her entrance, but as soon as she responded to Zabini by name and accused him of acting like a Gryffindor, his interest had peaked. He saw the green tie. Slytherin, one of their own. How fitting. Yet she had life and vigor—such qualities in a Slytherin were beginning to become a novel concept. She was actually funny too, the way she subtly implied that it was unknown whether Zabini had a half a brain or not.

"Do you know who I am?" Blaise snorted, rising up. She did not seem intimidated by his stature and looked straight ahead rather dully.

"Obviously, since I addressed you by name, Zabini," she responded with impatience.

"And who the hell do you think you are?"

At last, it clicked. Finally, the girl looked up and Draco saw her celery green eyes. He recognized those eyes and it made sense. She was in his House, he had seen her speaking to Daphne, and he knew she had a name—an important one at that, considering it was his job to know names as a Prefect.

"Astoria Greengrass, fifth year Slytherin," Draco responded disinterestedly. The girl was plain, with exception of her eyes. She was thin, slight, had a few freckles marring her complexion, and lacked all feminine curves. Certainly nothing to admire or think twice about.

"You have a _sister?_" Zabini cried out and Astoria secretively rolled her eyes. Daphne seemed absolutely mortified.

"Tori, what is it?" Daphne asked quietly, her tone gentle but clearly wanting Astoria to leave. Astoria opened her mouth until a barking voice was heard outside the cabinet. The towering figure loomed behind Astoria, whose posture cringed in revulsion.

* * *

Astoria had escaped unnoticed, but was still stuck in the entranceway of the cabin.

"Greengrass, where are your parents?" bellowed Alecto Carrow, a woman so foul and frightening that her reputation as a female Death Eater only seconded Bellatrix Lestrange. Daphne paled and stammered.

"They are abroad, ma'am," she finally managed to stutter. Astoria cringed even further, knowing that her sister could not handle having so much pressure on her.

"Abroad?" Alecto asked patronizingly. "And why would they be abroad at such a… _needful_ time?" Daphne looked like she was about to burst into tears at any moment

"They… uh," Daphne stuttered, "they were unaware that they were so greatly needed?" she offered.

"Dearest, pretty girl," Alecto crooned with an affectionate tone. Daphne lit up at the compliment, only to find that Alecto looked sadistic rather than kind. "That is a lie. Now tell me again," the woman fiddled with her wand, causing Astoria to begin formulating a plan, "where are your parents?"

"Abroad, as she said," Astoria interrupted, turning around to face the woman but not reaching her gaze. "They were unable to further tolerate such foul blood surrounding them and felt that going abroad would best help the cause. They are more suited to being around those of their own kind," Astoria logically rambled. "Others, like yourself Ms. Carrow, are more acclimated and suited toward being in close proximity such abominations to our society, which is why the Dark Lord placed you at Hogwarts, where you will best serve the cause."

It came out like diplomatic guile, but perhaps Malfoy or Nott caught the low blow to the Carrows mediocre blood and were forced to rub their lips to hide a smirk. Astoria hadn't seen Malfoy smirk in awhile, but that was hardly the point. The point was that her cover was blown. She had been determined to keep her head down and her sister out of this whole business, but in her instincts to protect her family, it had fallen apart.

"Who are you?" Alecto Carrow hissed. "You are not Greengrass and therefore have no right to answer for her." Alecto shoved her wand under Astoria's chin, forcing her to look up so that Alecto could see her face. "Oh, but you _are_ Greengrass," Alecto murmured with cruel amusement. "You have your father's precious eyes, the trademark of the Greengrass clan." Her tone of surprise quickly shifted to a barking order. "Name and year, girl."

"Astoria Greengrass, fifth year," Astoria replied, now meeting Alecto Carrow's gaze with a challenging air.

"Do write to your parents and tell them to come home or they will find themselves without two reasons to return," she threatened as she played with her wand. Astoria's anger burned and it was only her sister's hand yanking her arm that prevented her from saying anything further. The entire cabinet was dead silent.

"And who are the Carrows to tell the Greengrasses what to do?" she asked to no one in particular.

"Tori…" her sister began, but Astoria cut her off.

"Yours," she said, handing her sister the letter. "It was in your book."

* * *

And with that, the younger Greengrass girl turned around and left with a N.E.W.T. level Charms book in hand, leaving the entire cabin completely stunned and shocked.

"Well, she's a liability," Pansy murmured. Draco looked across the cabin to meet Nott's gaze. He seemed to have a different opinion.

"It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for," he murmured introspectively. Everyone shrugged and went back to their conversation, but Nott looked up to catch Draco's gaze. His eyes said, "She could be of use to us," and Draco silently agreed, knowing that this was only the beginning of what he would later call 'The Greengrass Debacle.'


	2. Chapter 2: Mastermind Madness

_Author's Note: The feedback for this story has been amazing! Thank you all so much for reviewing!_

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ON THE OTHER SIDE

_Chapter 2: Master(mind) Madness_

He begrudgingly owed his ass to Severus Snape, considering the man had saved it by killing That Old Coot for him. The Potions Master was undeniably extraordinarily brilliant and had been his mentor for awhile until he began to meddle in Draco's attempts to win back the Dark Lord's favor for his family. It was maddening and infuriating to have his own professor attempt to outshine his protégé, but Draco knew he was indebted to the man. Now, Severus Snape was Headmaster of Hogwarts. All he had originally wanted was to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and now he was the _Headmaster_—more power than he could ever desire! And yet, the man looked positively miserable. Draco looked around to see his fellow Slytherins sharing his confusion—there was nothing celebratory about the celebratory feast.

The Great Hall was too quiet as the first years were Sorted. There were so few of them, only a couple going to each House. Even though it was now mandatory for all magically-capable children to be sent to Hogwarts, the Mudbloods were weeded out at Platform 9 and ¾. It was a little pathetic to see them cry that they would not be able to go to school after all. Some of the Mudbloods put up a fuss and found themselves eating the platform—that is, if they were lucky. All the first years looked terrified with the exception of those Sorted into Slytherin, who sauntered over to the table and sat down with unmistakable Pureblood grace. They knew they would face no animosity because of their lineage. However, the older Slytherins knew that they were hardly invincible. It would take a month or so before this knowledge trickled down.

Draco looked around. There was not a Mudblood in sight. And although he wanted to victoriously smirk at the sight, he could not help but feel that Hogwarts felt a little emptier without their presence. It wasn't _their_ presence in particular (Merlin no, like he cared about _them_), but there were so few students that it was slightly unnerving; also, the typical beginning of the year excitement that usually filled the air was completely absent. He saw the Carrows at the staff table and realized that the war had penetrated Hogwarts. No one was safe anymore.

The Headmaster stood and addressed the students, who grew quiet quickly, most afraid to speak in the first place.

"I am Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts. There are a few notable changes that all students must be advised of." (At least the man was straight-to-the-point…) "Professor Slughorn will step in as the Potions Master. Also joining us will be Professors Alecto and Amycus Carrow, the former teaching Muggle Studies and the latter teaching the Dark Arts." There was a low hush that filled the building. "Muggle Studies is now mandatory for all students. Furthermore, Mister Carrow's class on the Dark Arts will replace the former curriculum of Defense Against the Dark Arts." He said this all as if informing students of the obvious, like quills were helpful writing instruments. "There will be no Quidditch." There was another groan. "There will be no Head Boy or Head Girl." Silverware clattered. "Trips to Hogsmeade are now banned." Goblets hit the table. "Prefects who are not of Pureblood have been striped of their title and duties." Jaws dropped.

Draco looked out of the corner of his eye at Tracey Davis, who was in line to be Head Girl right behind Mudblood Granger. Now that she was missing—no doubt consorting with her boyfriends Scarhead Potter and Weaselbee (what a _harlot_)—Davis had a chance. But there would be no Head Girl. Furthermore, she was only half-blood and therefore completely lost her title and power as a Prefect. Her face remained stony and her jaw was clenched. A few sparks sputtered out of her wand and Nott, who was sitting next to her, grabbed her wand hand and shoved it under the table before anyone noticed.

"All student organizations, clubs, societies, teams, or groups are hereby banned. The former are defined as gatherings of more than three students." Draco realized this was Umbridge's Education Degree No. 24. "All students are expected to obey the rules of this school. Those found breaking them will serve detention with the Professors Carrow." There was a tangible shudder through the Great Hall as the two siblings smiled gleefully in unison. Draco grimaced down at his plate, knowing that like his dear Auntie Bellatrix, the Carrows liked to play with their food.

"That is all. You may eat."

With great hesitation and tainted appetites, plates were passed around and a low hum of whispers and clattering utensils created a steady drone in the Great Hall. It was still far too quiet.

"Draco, aren't you going to eat?" Pansy asked with concern.

"I am not hungry," he responded, shoving his plate aside.

"Draco, you really ought to…" Daphne began, also worried, but Draco snapped.

"Your insipid advise is not welcome, Greengrass," he lashed out and immediately she shut her mouth. However, another pair of green eyes appeared in his view. Little Greengrass had heard her name and peered down the table. (She had been Little Greengrass in his mind since he saw her on the train.) Seeing it was just Malfoy barking at her sister, she saw no harm was done to her sister and went back to pushing her food across her plate. When they were dismissed, he saw her plate was still full.

* * *

"You… yes, you there. Clean up your partner's mess," Amycus Carrow ordered Astoria in Dark Arts. The man had begun his lesson by demonstrating the Cruciatus Curse on a white bunny rabbit. The Hufflepuff who nearly came in late and had no other place to sit except for next to Astoria had vomited during the demonstration, much to Astoria's chagrin. But her, clean up vomit? _No._

"She is not my partner, Professor," Astoria said, making her green tie more visible. "I do not partner up with squeamish Hufflepuffs." The class quietly stirred, surprised to see a Slytherin protest.

"Do it," Amycus hissed.

"I am a member of the House of Greengrass, not a House Elf," Astoria insisted with a proud sneer. "I am above such a degrading and disgraceful order and if you persist in your insistence that I clean up this girl's mess, my parents will indubitably hear about this." She straightened up in her chair and eyed her professor as if he was a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe.

"Ah yes, Greengrass," murmured Amycus Carrow, seeming to be impressed by Astoria's lineage. "Pardon me." Astoria gave a little shrug as if deigning to accept his apology. "You, Hufflepuff, clean up your classmate. What the hell is a Hufflepuff anyway…?" the man seemed to muse. Astoria rolled her eyes as the helpful Hufflepuff aided their classmate. He looked at Astoria oddly, probably wondering what had gotten into the girl.

It wasn't like Astoria spoke much during lessons and she certainly had never pulled the family name card in class before. Her mother had raised her to never speak unless spoken to, but she always had a little trouble with that rule. However, she usually kept to herself and quiet. She felt she was above most of her classmates and so she did not condescend herself to speak to them, but she tried to never flaunt this superior air because it got her noticed. If anything, she adopted neutrality and invisibility—that way, she found out the most interesting things about people.

"What are you looking at, Hufflepuff?" Astoria asked dryly to the boy who was looking at her. He narrowed his eyes the slightest and coaxed the infirm girl up, cast a cleaning spell, and helped her to the Hospital Wing.

Class was a little gruesome to say the least. It was quite clear to Astoria that Amycus had no—how would her father put it?—_finesse_. It was all brute force, nothing clever or clean. Her father always said to never leave a mess behind unless it was necessary or unavoidable. Astoria certainly did not like his style, which left little room for any sort of classiness. When the lesson was concluded, she had only paid attention to half of the man's words because she thought so lowly of him, but he called her over before she could escape.

"Greengrass, a word," the man beckoned and Astoria sauntered over to his desk. "I didn't know there was a younger daughter." Astoria shrugged. "Your father does not say much about you." Astoria appeared to be more interested in her nails. "Is it because you are unremarkable compared to your older sister?" Astoria knew this was her chance to jump in and save her cover as the unexceptional Greengrass.

"The comparison is often noted," she said quietly. The truth was that her father did not talk about her in order to protect her; there no need for his smart, little girl to be Marked.

"Poor thing," he tutted, sounding hardly sympathetic at all. "The Dark Lord understands that a girl like yourself seeks redemption. Work hard and you may serve Him, Miss Greengrass."

"Thank you for the advice, professor," Astoria said with feigned gratefulness before leaving the classroom with her head bowed in mock humility.

However, she knew there was no way she would do _His_ bidding.

* * *

Muggle Studies quickly grew boring with Alecto Carrow. The essence of the class was explained in a sentence: Muggles were vile abominations with sinful tendencies toward avarice and greed which they employed in their dirty, scheming attempts to steal witches and wizards' magic. Half-bloods and Muggle-lovers always tried to argue, but it only resulted in detention.

"Students, please, you must understand," Alecto crooned. "It is not your fault that you were not shown the true nature of Muggles. I recognize your indignation at being forced to suddenly have to process this information. But it is true: Muggles are like animals, filthy and dirty. It is their fault that we have had to keep our powers hidden and are unable to take our true, rightful place in society because of their covetous nature. Now, it is time that the natural order is restored."

"And by that you mean rounding up Muggleborn witches and wizards and taking their justly earned wands away?" Longbottom challenged the professor.

"They _stole_ magic, Longbottom. Professor Burbage did not teach you these terrible truths, did she? Did she, Mr. Malfoy?" the woman turned her eyes on Draco, who looked back at her with a stony expression. "_Did she_, Malfoy?" Alecto asked more forcefully with a sadistic sneer. Draco slowly shook his head. "No, she did not. It is a good thing she _resigned_, isn't it Malfoy?" Draco did not care to respond. The woman was tortured and murdered above his supper table as she weakly called out for Professor Snape to save her. Sometimes when a goblet was knocked over during meals, Draco would flinch, finding the sound sickening. "Now Longbottom, sit down now."

"They did not steal magic! They were blessed with it, like all of us!" he insisted.

"Longbottom, that's enough."

Draco sighed. Muggle Studies with the Gryffindors always resulted in one of them getting high and mighty and feeling the need to stand up and yell about Merlin-knows-what. It was getting old and a little repetitive, seeing how it always ended with the same result.

"No!" he protested. "I don't care! You're wrong! And to try and tell us otherwise is—" Longbottom never got to finish his sentence because he was thrown from his seat and blasted into the classroom wall. Amycus Carrow revived his unconscious form and spoke in a sinister tone.

"Longbottom, that is only a taste of what is to come. Do not think we are unable to resort to more… _persuasive _methods should you require it. I would even not mind using the same spell that sent your dearest mummy and daddy to St. Mungos, but I believe Mrs. Lestrange has already requested that privilege. You will learn, however, to watch your tongue. Detention, Longbottom."

From that day on, the Slytherins started hearing crashes and cries of pain in the dungeons, not far from their dormitories. They learned to block it out and accepted it to be what it was until Theodore Nott was called on to 'administer' a detention. When he returned, he yanked off his blood-speckled shirt and tossed it in the fireplace before he proceeded to scrub his hands for a half hour. There was never a week after that when his hands were not rubbed raw.

And after that, things were never the same.

* * *

The letter arrived in early October and looked like any other letter Astoria had received from her parents. However, it was the first time she had heard from them all school year and she was quite eager to read the contents of it. She was about to open it when it was ripped from her hands by Amycus Carrow.

"From your parents, Greengrass?" he sneeringly inquired.

"Yes, and you will see it's addressed to _me_," she insisted, reaching for her letter. Amycus jerked away and his sister snatched it from him.

"From your parents, Greengrass?" Alecto asked in the same tone as her brother previously used. Astoria gritted her teeth.

"The handwriting is my father's," she said, trying to maintain composure and patience. "And the letter is addressed to _me_. Does the school not have more sophisticated methods of assuring that unsavory letters do not pass into Hogwarts instead of prying them from students' hands? Not that my parents would send anything of a disloyal nature, naturally, considering their ties to Him," she scathingly reminded the Carrows.

"'Their ties'… pfft!" Amycus snorted. Astoria appeared offended but did not deny it.

"_My dearest Astoria_," Alecto began to read the letter. Astoria folded her hands under the table to keep herself from doing something drastic. "_Sweden is a lovely country and your mother and I are enjoying ourselves very much. It is already growing chilly, but we are very excited to participate in the winter sports._" This did not seem to be quite as juicy as Alecto was hoping for. Astoria thought of her as the smarter sibling, but she was not all-together too smart if she thought the Greengrasses would be so blatant to send anything of a secretive nature by owl. Alecto continued to scan the letter and touched her wand to it a few times before Astoria held out a hand to take the letter back. It was unceremoniously shoved into her possession and Astoria pocketed the letter with feigned disinterest. She slowly ate her meal and ambled back to the common room before she dared to take out the letter again.

She knew something was amiss when her parents started talking about Sweden. Her parents were both not fond of winter, snow, or winter sports. They would never go to Sweden at the end of fall. Was she supposed to be deconstructing the letter to find its true meaning? Was it in code? Or was the message hidden by magic?

It took her back to when she was a child and her precocious mind was too much for her mother to handle and she would simply hand over the little brunette to her father. Sitting still and not talking was tricky while Daphne was an angel, always good at following the rules and being perfectly loveable. However, Astoria was too quick and too observant, always suspicious and inquisitive, completely relentless in her pursuits and resourceful enough to do things on her own.

In short, she was her father's daughter in personality and looks. She had the piercing Greengrass eyes from him and his dark hair, as well as his slight built and stubborn chin. Her father would entertain her mind's ramblings by giving her puzzles and riddles to solve. She was always bright and certainly brag-worthy, yet her father never commented about his youngest daughter at gatherings. She would be introduced as Astoria and if he was indulgent, he would say some uninteresting fact about her, for example that she managed to pick the winning winged horses at the races that weekend. When she was younger, she was always jealous of Daphne, who was constantly praised and adored wherever she went, but during the summer before her fourth year she had overheard a conversation with her parents that made her change her mind.

"A kind word at gatherings would not be too much to ask, Thomas. She is bright and knows when she is being unduly neglected. She simply can hide it well."

"Of course Astoria can."

"I simply want her to reach her absolute potential. It does not help that you keep her in the dark and make her out to be the unremarkable black sheep of the family!"

"It is best if she is viewed as such, Calliope."

"And how will that do any good, Thomas?"

"He is recruiting."

"You mean…?"

"It is different this time around." There was a beat of silence.

"There will come a time for us all to choose a side; you cannot expect them to be immune to all repercussions just because they are young! Just look at the young Malfoy boy…"

"He, I am sure, will find it out on his own soon enough. Daphne has a chance of gliding through this, but Astoria will get tangled. I refuse to let them use her." She heard her mother sigh in exasperation. "Oh, think about it, Calliope: a smart girl, Pureblood, quiet, talented—she is the _perfect_ set of eyes to have inside Hogwarts. She can blend in and pick up the oddest things. In fact… Astoria, go to bed," her father had sighed, knowing that she was spying at the top of the staircase as she had done so often in her youth. She had snuck a peek at her parents' faces before going back to bed and realized that she would have to remain invisible—something she had deplored—in order to keep her family safe. But now, it was becoming increasingly difficult.

She read and reread the letter a number of times, searching for clues. Perhaps there was a password: she tried her full name, the Greengrass motto, her sister's name, and anything related to her family. She was about to give up when her eyes fell on a sentence: _We greatly anticipate seeing you over Christmas and I already have tickets to the races. You are my good luck charm, after all—at your first race, you picked the winning horse! I do not recall the name any more, but I remember the day with fondness._

Astoria knew her father committed to memory the name of the giant, grey Granian winged horse that completely demolished the competition. It was not like him to forget details like that.

"Eyvindr," Astoria whispered to the letter and the words on the page melted away and revealed a new message.

_Dear Astoria,_

_In light of recent events, your mother and I have been looking over our last will and testimony should anything happen to us. We have made arrangements for you and your sister to keep the estate and the surrounding lands. However, there is a matter of your inheritances. We have modified Daphne's inheritance to be a year of school and a year of living expenses. Yours currently covers three years of school and a year of living expenses. We believe this to be fair and should anything happen to us, you and Daphne will split the remaining money._

_However, the Gringotts vault with this amount of money is in your name. Not your sister's name, but _yours_. The deeds to the estate and lands, should we die, are also in your name. Daphne will have control of her inheritance, but you will control yours, and if we pass, the remaining funds in the Greengrass vault, the estate, the lands, and the profits from our investments will all be passed to you. We know you will be able to handle this responsibility and make decisions wisely. Although you are younger than Daphne, we believe you to be more capable to take liability and appropriate the money accordingly. Please explain this to your sister._

_Know that we do not do this to create strife between you and Daphne, but we wish the best for you if your mother and I are not able to watch over you. Be careful at school._

_Love,_

_Father_

_P.S. Burn after reading_

Without warning, it was settled. If her parents died, she would be the legal head of the Greengrass family. She was fifteen years old and was expected to be the adult of the family. Astoria already took care of her sister as it was, but managing an estate, extensive properties, and the family's various investments was certainly putting a stretch on it. Plus, the fact that her parents were concerned about an untimely death was extremely disturbing, considering the power that the Dark Lord had gained over the last year. Astoria took a few deep breaths to regain composure before walking down to the common room, where she knew her sister was.

* * *

Draco and the remaining seventh year Slytherins were in the common room when Little Greengrass crept down the stairs and asked for her sister.

"Daphne, a moment please," Little Greengrass quietly requested, seeming to not want to draw notice to herself.

"What is it, Tori?" Daphne asked impatiently, seeming otherwise preoccupied talking about clothes with Pansy.

"A letter from Mother and Father."

"May I?" she held out her hand for the letter.

"Daph, I think it would be best to…" Little Greengrass began, but her sister snatched the letter out of her hand and began to read it. The color disappeared from Daphne's face as she searched through the contents and began to reread it in disbelief. Now all eyes were on the Greengrasses—the elder seemed to look appalled and the younger one was frighteningly stoic except for her nervous tick of spinning an emerald encrusted ring around her finger.

"And that's that?" Daphne asked shrilly.

"I was not given a choice," Little Greengrass calmly replied.

"You _bitch_," the harsh words rang in the common room, all taken aback by Daphne swearing. "This is what you wanted all along and now you've got it. I hope you're happy now."

"Daphne—"

"Some sister you are." The letter was crumpled up and tossed to the ground. Tears filled Daphne's eyes as she dashed up the stairs. Little Greengrass seemed too shocked and dismayed to go after her. Draco had a feeling that Daphne's words were more crushing to Little Greengrass than she let on. The fifth year lowered herself to the ground to pick up the letter. She carried it over the fireplace and all watched her as she tossed it into the fire and waited until it turned to ashes. Draco looked over to Nott, who seemed to be eyeing Little Greengrass and thoughtfully rubbing his chin. Maybe he had his suspicions what had just passed between the Greengrass sisters.

Daphne refused to talk about it; for a long while, that day became one of Daphne Greengrass' only secrets that she managed to keep hidden. She did not speak to her younger sister for nearly a month.

* * *

When Daphne did speak to Astoria, she cornered her in the library and made herself at home among the stacks of books at Astoria's table.

"I thought you would be here," Daphne said, moving one of the books as if it was a used tissue. Astoria was unsure how to respond and simply looked at her older sister. "Alright, I really need to talk to you and I didn't know who else I could confide in, so… I slept with Blaise Zabini." Astoria's jaw opened. Why her sister felt the need to tell her these things was beyond her.

"_Please_ tell me you are not pregnant," Astoria muttered, looking around to see if anyone had overheard.

"Oh, I'm not, don't worry. I've got a potion to take care of that. Give me a little credit, sis," Daphne smiled, tossing her blonde hair over a shoulder. "I mean, he really has been quite elusive this entire school year."

"He has?"

"_All_ the blokes have! Well, not counting Crabbe and Goyle, but since when do they _ever_ count?"

"Daphne, I actually think they are—" _Up to something_, Astoria tried to say. Daphne was right: Nott, Malfoy, and Zabini had been uncharacteristically quiet and keeping their noses out of things. They had been doing what Astoria had made up her mind to do: attempt to remain unnoticed and unremarkable, but obey orders just enough to keep one's neck unscathed and shirtfront clean. Astoria had seen them talking to each other in the common room and they would all go silent when she or anyone else entered. They still went to class and administered detentions without a fuss, but it seemed to Astoria that they had something up their sleeves. They were plotting something and Astoria was too nosy to put it out of her mind.

Things around Hogwarts were growing worse with the Carrows in charge of discipline. Almost all of the seventh year Slytherins had been called to administer a detention—in other words, brutally hex their classmates—and now the Carrows were beginning to call on sixth years and students from other Houses. Astoria had heard of students having to perform the curse on friends and Housemates. Madam Pomfrey was constantly running out of beds, it seemed. Apparently, even a few second years had gotten themselves in detention for putting up signs saying 'Dumbledore's Army: still recruiting!" The Slytherins heard them scream for an hour. Astoria resented the group for involving the younger kids and plotting such fool-hardy schemes—obviously, the Gryffindors were in charge because there was no real cleverness to their tricks. Their cause was futile, considering they were trying to spread hope within the dismal walls of Hogwarts. The castle had become a Dementor's Kiss. Even the younger children understood the gravity of the situation.

"It's been so difficult to talk to them. I really hope they are not in trouble."

"Daphne—"

"But Blaise—I mean, you know how Blaise is with the ladies. He's so…" a dreamy look appeared in Daphne's eyes. "…_fit_," Daphne finally decided on. "It is quite odd he hasn't been around the block too much lately." Astoria grimaced, not wanting to hear about Zabini's sex life.

"I really do not care, Daphne. Why can you not talk to Pansy about this? I am a little busy, as you can see."

"But I can't tell _Pansy!_" Daphne explained with wide eyes. "I only trust _you_." Astoria closed her book. "Besides, Pansy already knows that Blaise is super-fit, while you are completely oblivious to these things."

"My apologies," Astoria murmured dryly, opening her book again.

"_Please_ tell me you have seen the way Nott looks at you!"

"Nott?" Astoria asked incredulously.

"You are a lost cause," Daphne sighed dramatically.

"What about Nott?"

"_I_ think he fancies you."

"Is that so?" Astoria deprecatingly asked, not really interested.

"He has seemed very interested in watching you whenever you are around."

"That is because Nott, along with the rest of the 7th years, did not seem to realize I existed until the beginning of this year. And Nott watches _everyone_—he makes it his business to know useful things."

"So you fancy him?" Daphne asked hopefully.

"_No_," Astoria insisted.

"Good, because Tracey—even though she won't admit it—is getting a little jealous."

"Why would Davis be jealous?"

"You really _are_ completely oblivious to this stuff, aren't you?" Daphne mused, resting her chin on her palm.

"I am not very good at noting these sorts of relationships, so no," Astoria said rapidly. "Now what is your point? You do not say a word to me for three weeks and five days and now you want to have a little _tête-à-tête_ about blokes?"

"You counted the days?" Daphne breathed.

"Of course," Astoria responded stiffly. "You are my sister." Daphne launched herself across the table to pull Astoria in for a hug, sniffling how she was a terrible sister and really sorry and that she knew it wasn't Astoria's fault and it was all probably for the best. Astoria patted her sister's back awkwardly, but was glad that she had her sister's forgiveness. "Alright, so what is it that is so important?"

"So, I slept with Blaise Zabini…"

"You may have mentioned that once."

"And I saw something," she leaned in closer. "He's… Tori, he's taken the Mark." Instantly, Astoria shut all of her books, grabbed her bag, and dragged her sister out of the library and into the nearest empty classroom.

"Daphne, you cannot just say those things in a library—"

"We were alone, no one could have heard us—"

"There is always a chance. This is much safer," she insisted, putting a number of spells around them to keep them from being heard or disturbed. "So… are you sure it was _the_ Mark?"

"I know sometimes I don't really understand things," Daphne said sheepishly, "but there is no mistaking it, Tori. It's… it's truly terrible. It's more than just a tattoo. It's almost like it's alive," Daphne shivered.

"And it was on his left forearm?"

"It was," Daphne nodded her head. Astoria's mind was whirling with new conclusions. In accordance with her sister's observations of Zabini, he must have taken the Mark that summer; since he had returned to school, he had been noticeably different, especially around women, probably because he had to keep the Mark a secret. He was always trying to get in someone's knickers, but this year, it had only been her sister (_ew_), which must have been some sort of record for him.

So, Zabini had taken the Mark. Malfoy already had it. Maybe Nott had it too. Perhaps, that was what united them. They were all trying to keep a low profile. Maybe—it was a dangerous thought and Astoria felt wary of even entertaining it—maybe they wanted out. But that was futile, because there was no way to get out of being a Death Eater—only death or completely falling off the charts by going underground was a way out. Now, Daphne was not the smartest girl, but she could still put things together and had an eye for understanding people's body language. It was only a matter of time before she drew the same conclusions Astoria had made. It was also only a matter of time before Daphne would not be able to keep the secret to herself. "Isn't it tragic? He's too young… Tori, what are you thinking?" Daphne asked warily, seeing the wide-eyed look on Astoria's face when faced with a terrible truth.

"Daphne, I am so, _so_ sorry," Astoria said, drawing her wand. "This is for your own safety. _Obliviate_."

* * *

He saw Little Greengrass in the common room the night before Halloween, sitting at the hearth of the fireplace and staring at the hot coals. Her green eyes looked ready to kill with the way the light from the fire reflected in them. She jumped when she heard him enter, as if he had interrupted her most private thoughts.

"Jumpy much, Greengrass?" he asked, his sneer only a shadow of what it would have been two years ago.

"Intrusive much, Malfoy?" she retorted. Daphne was right: Little Greengrass was a bit of a terror when angry. It was obvious that something was seriously troubling—no, _disturbing_ her. He knew that look. She turned back to the fire, a surly expression on her face. Screams could be heard from the dungeon.

"It is quite bothersome, is it not?" he asked dryly, gesturing over to the dungeons, but her back was turned toward him, putting his motion out of sight.

"Your incessant, undesired prattling?" she quipped.

"You are so clever Little Greengrass," he dryly snorted, ignoring her insult and situating himself in an armchair. She turned around to face him, appearing to be disgusted by the pet name. "I meant the screams."

"I am used to it. We are all used to it," she responded in a monotonous, resigned tone.

"We do what we must to survive," he observed and suddenly she was on her feet, marching toward him with unconcealed malice.

"It is all becoming quite obvious, Malfoy, that we all are doing what we must to survive, but some efforts are a little more clandestine than others. You, Nott, and Zabini are up to something and just because you have some master plan does not mean you are allowed to involve others."

"What are you talking about, Greengrass?" Malfoy asked dryly, rising to his feet in hopes to intimidate her. She was so tiny, only a scrawny little fifth year. He tried sounding disinterested, but his heart was pounding… what did she know? She swished her wand around the room, seeming to cast some spells that made it soundproof or checking for intruders.

"Zabini has the Dark Mark. You have the Dark Mark. I can only assume that Nott has the Dark Mark, with the way you lot have suddenly become best mates," she spat. Draco tried to maintain his composure.

"When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me," he recited.

"You already are an ass, Malfoy."

"Now that is really uncalled for. You do not even know me," he said with feigned innocence.

"Daphne saw Zabini's Mark when they were… _intimate_. She told me," she announced, not content with dancing around the point. Draco immediately sobered up.

"And no one else knows?"

"Not even her."

"Pardon?"

"I Obliviated my own sister," Little Greengrass said and Draco was taken aback. Nott said that she appeared to be smart, but the fact that she was cold and capable enough to take her own sister's memories was astonishing. She sighed, shakily sitting down. "It is common knowledge that Daphne cannot keep a secret. I did it for her safety. It is better that she remains ignorant; that way, she will stay out of everything. She… she will not survive this war otherwise," Little Greengrass said quietly. "So, keep an eye on your mates. Zabini was careless and selfish—no surprise there, Blaise is blasé as they come—but whatever it is you lot are planning, keep my sister out of it," she barked the order.

"And what of yourself?" Draco asked coolly, knowing that Nott (who was the real mastermind) was not going to be pleased when he heard about Little Greengrass' meddling. The Greengrass Debacle was a factor he had not anticipated on taking seriously.

"I am trying to protect myself, my sister, and my family. I could care less what happens to the rest of you. I want nothing to do with your plan."

"It is a bit late for that Greengrass," said a figure at the bottom of the stairs. Draco knew by the voice that it was Nott. He was hidden in the shadows and must have sauntered down after Little Greengrass performed the spells around the room. She had been too angry at him to notice Nott lurking in the shadows and eavesdropping on their conversation. He was uncannily talented at doing that. Little Greengrass' eyes grew wide and she flinched in surprise. "You Obliviated your own sister? That is cold, Greengrass, even for a Slytherin," Nott crooned.

"Whatever it takes to survive," she said, eyeing Draco out of the corner of her eye. He was starting to really not like her.

"Cold, but cunning. Thank you for cleaning up our little mess," Nott said with a slight smile.

"So, we have an accord? This never happened?" she asked.

"Oh, no no no," Nott shook his head.

"Nott," Draco began warily. They did not need more people. It was difficult enough already and it was Little Greengrass for crying out loud! Little Greengrass, Ickle Greengrass, Itty Bitty Greengrass! It did not matter if she was smart or cunning, she was a bloody _fifth year_ and far too young… hell, they were _all_ far too young. Nott seemed to think she was 'useful,' but he had a feeling Nott had ulterior motives. Well, they were Slytherins, they _all_ had ulterior motives. "We cannot afford to fold her in."

"She knows too much," Nott shook his head, no longer wearing a smile.

"That can be remedied," Draco hinted.

"It is too late," Nott decided. "Astoria Greengrass, you're in."

Little Greengrass looked up at Nott with startled eyes. Once again, Draco was too familiar with that look. She, undoubtedly, was wondering what she had gotten herself into. What she did not know, however, was that they all were wondering the same thing.


	3. Chapter 3: Protective Paradigm

_Author's Note: The feedback I have received for just the first two chapters of this story is positively amazing. I am quite blown away. Keep it up, amazing reviewers! Lots of plot twists in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. As always, feel free to include in your reviews any questions, comments, or constructive criticism you may have. Thanks and enjoy! And for my readers of The Reign of Kellyn Wood, the next chapter ought to be up very soon, within an hour._

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ON THE OTHER SIDE

_Chapter 3: Protective Paradigm_

_"It is too late. Astoria Greengrass, you're in."_

Fucking hell. Was Theodore Nott smoking some mushroom from the greenhouse or was he simply out of his mind? Either way, he was going to get them all killed by bringing in some exasperating, scrawny fifth year with no particular assets (or ass) other than her abilities to stimulate irksome conversation, nose her way into others' business, and perform a decent memory charm. Blaise was right angry when he heard the Greengrass Brat had been folded into their plan, but she hissed that if he had kept his snake in his pants, none of this would have happened.

Which was completely true and beside the point because she was _bloody annoying_.

"Greengrass," Draco sneered, "go sit with people your own age." The last thing they needed was Little Greengrass following the seventh year boys around like a lost sheep to raise suspicion.

"I care not for your presence, Malfoy," she would primly declare. "I am sitting with my sister. You, however, may leave if you wish."

Daphne was utterly bewildered that her sister would talk to anyone like that.

"I don't understand what has gotten into her lately," Daphne shook her head when walking with Draco to class one day. "She used to be so quiet, never talked back to anyone, always very modest of her abilities and now suddenly, she is mouthing off to the Carrows and she's been reading the oddest books that I'm almost _sure_ she got from Nott."

"I would not worry about her," Draco said in a bored tone. "She is smart enough to get herself out of whatever trouble she creates."

"She isn't the same girl anymore. I miss my quiet sister," Daphne said softly. "You don't like her, do you?"

"I find her bothersome," Draco said, settling for the nicest thing he could say about Damn Little Greengrass. Daphne just laughed.

"She can have that effect."

* * *

"Miss Greengrass, a word after class," Professor Flitwick beckoned Astoria over after Charms one day.

"Yes, Professor?" she responded dully. Charms was her second favorite class, but she had feigned being distracted during class when she was actually listening most attentively; apparently it had been working.

"Last year you were near the top of the class and this year, your marks have slipped. Now, I know these are rather trying times, but I do hope you will turn in your homework more often." Astoria adjusted her book bag, knowing that all of the unturned in assignments were sitting in her bag. "You exam marks are all quite good; that is to say, you only answer three-fourths of the questions and leave the rest blank. Do you have any explanation? Or is there anything you wish to tell me?" the teacher egged her on, hoping to understand what was going on in the Slytherin's mind.

The truth was that mediocrity was all that was saving her. She kept up with all the reading in the Dark Arts because she knew that the terrible knowledge from that class was going to rescue her one day, but she did not bother with doing the homework or paying attention in class. Amycus Carrow was appalling and she refused to listen to him.

She was the only Slytherin in her Care of Magical Creatures class and so she did not care how others viewed her. The class was her sanctuary since she was far better handling animals than people, and no one attempted to talk to her anyway. It was her favorite class and she found herself ambivalent to Hagrid, even if he was half-giant and sometimes rather scatter-brained. He, in turn, seemed to begrudgingly tolerate Astoria because she was so good with the creatures, but the green tie on her neck made it rather hard for him to invite her over for tea—which she would refuse anyway because it was ill-advised to consort with half-breed scum.

"I simply have been busy, professor."

"Too busy to do your homework? Miss Greengrass, are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No, professor. I do not know why you would assume that," she said almost mechanically, keeping her face perfectly neutral. "Good day, professor. Thank you for your concern," she bristled before leaving the room.

* * *

Their plan was simple: survive the year. After that, it was a great unknown what the hell they were going to do.

"That is your huge, mastermind plan?" the Greengrass Brat asked them dryly.

"It is a little easier said than done when you have this," Blaise retorted, rolling up his left sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark. Draco followed and rolled up his sleeve to reveal his; he observed that she did not even shudder at the sight of the disfigured skin.

"It is also a little easier said than done when you have this," Nott said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his empty forearm. Little Greengrass seemed surprised.

"I had assumed…"

"What did we say about assuming, Little Greengrass?" Draco drawled.

"It makes you an ass," she goaded.

"Can we vote her off the team?" Blaise inquired snappily.

"First of all, we are not a team. Second, this certainly is no democracy. Third," Nott continued, "we need her and she knows too much."

"That can be fixed," Draco and Blaise growled in unison.

"You may stop talking about me like I am not here," Little Greengrass snapped. "You forget I want the same thing as you do."

"To go away?" Blaise suggested.

"To survive through the year," she continued, unperturbed. "We all have our loyalties. Mine is to my sister. Nothing else matters. You ask why you need me, but you ought to be considering why you need each other. It all is the same reason: we can be of use to each other. We are Slytherins, therefore we have no scruples in using one another. Nott has the brains behind this. Zabini has charm, apparently," she rolled her eyes and Blaise released a rather undignified snort, "and Malfoy has money and connections. And I," she continued, "am invisible. It is perfect."

"You need to keep your head a little lower if you expect to hold up your end of the bargain," Blaise ordered her, his chin raised in superiority.

"Your sister has noticed you are behaving differently," Draco added, causing Blaise's eyes to flick in his direction.

"No more talking back to the Carrows. And you are keeping your marks average, yes?" Nott added. Little Greengrass nodded her head. "Good, we need you unnoticed, especially by the Carrows. It would make things easier if they forgot you existed." Little Greengrass' gaze drifted away for a moment, unfocused and distant, before Blaise snapped in front of her face.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked dryly, now hyper-attentive.

"For the record," he said with a roguish grin, "I like your sister much better than you."

"I wonder why?" she pondered aloud with a scathing look before turning on her heel and stalking up the stairs to the girl's dormitories.

"Really, Zabini?" Nott asked exasperatedly. Blaise grinned, lacing his hands behind his head and propping his feet up on a stool.

"I couldn't resist," he said as an explanation.

"Do us all a favor and try—I am sure you can come up with a motivating enough reason," Nott said slyly and Blaise scowled.

* * *

"Miss Greengrass, do you know the counter curse for the Hematoma Jinx?" asked Amycus Carrow in the Dark Arts. Astoria looked up from her work and then down at her notes. Written quite clearly just a few lines above the tip of her quill was the counter curse. Looking back up at the professor, she gave her response.

"No, sir."

The past two weeks, she had melted back into invisibility and the Carrows had seemed to all but forget about her. Both were convinced she was a rather unremarkable girl, despite her quick tongue and Pureblood lineage; she was back to being Daphne's little sister, the forgotten Greengrass, the Slytherin in the hallway. It was better that way and certainly made things easier. Amycus Carrow in particular was persuaded that she was about as smart as her older sister. The few occasions that he had asked her a question in class, she had responded by saying that she did not know the answer.

In the Dark Arts, her partner for the year became the Hufflepuff bloke who took the girl who vomited on the first day of class to the Hospital Wing. His name was Alec Summerby and he was the Seeker for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Malfoy could kick his ass any day on the pitch, which Astoria informed him of when he approached the subject of Quidditch. However, she never expected to have a partner, let alone him. He had the audacity to approach her the second day of class and make the decision for her.

"It looks like you're stuck with me," he sat down beside her. "Alec Summerby," he thrust out his hand, which Astoria eyed like a used tissue. He shoved his hand back in his pocket, slightly ashamed. "Mary—the girl who got sick in class yesterday— is rather terrified of you and it seems like there are an odd number of Slytherins, leaving you without a partner." Astoria did not deign to respond. "Well, no one seemed inclined to be your partner, but I figured I could do it."

"What a martyr," she murmured with a saccharine sweet smile, smoothing out a scroll to write on.

"Are you friends with those girls?" he asked good-naturedly, pointing to the Slytherins in the class. And this was why she never, _ever_ talked to Hufflepuffs: they were so fucking _nice_, it was almost unreal. They actually _liked_ civil conversations and meeting new people, and they were almost as noble and shit as Gryffindors. It was all quite appalling and superfluous to her.

"No, they are my Housemates," Astoria answered coolly.

"Why didn't you ask to partner with them?" Astoria wished he would stop asking questions. Mother always said that attempting civility was usually the best course of action, but Astoria begged to differ at the moment.

"Why would I? They are so dim that they do not realize that I would be the ideal partner to have."

"Because you know the material?" Summerby asked, his eyes curious and frightened.

"That is neither here nor there," she murmured, purposefully evading the question in hopes to scare him off.

"Well," he gulped, "I hope we can work together well." Astoria did not respond but inwardly groaned in irritation before pulling out her book to take notes.

In their partnership, they had talked little and only about school related topics after Astoria asked him to desist with the incessant personal questions, seeing how she had no desire to be his friend and he had no use of having her as a friend. The Hufflepuff seemed quite perplexed by this concept, but respectfully accepted Astoria's terms of agreement. It was now the beginning of November when Summerby peered over her shoulder ("Personal bubble, Summerby." "Sorry.") and realized that she knew the answer, but simply feigned ignorance.

"Why did you do that?" he asked after class was dismissed.

"Do what, Summerby?"

"You can call me Alec, you know," he insisted warmly. Astoria gave him a look to say that she was disgusted by that sort of familiarity. "Why did you tell Professor Carrow that you didn't know the answer when you did know it?"

"That is none of your concern," she snapped back.

"But it's school related," he persisted, "so it doesn't break your rules of partnership."

"Let me ask you something, Summerby," Astoria began, wheeling around to face him squarely and causing him to stop in his tracks. "How do you Hufflepuffs protect one another?"

"We support each other in everyway possible. We are loyal and we help each other; it is our self-less nature."

"Well, Slytherins are the opposite," Astoria explained impatiently, knowing that the sight of a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff talking in the corridor was rather suspicious. "We are not self-less, but self-full, selfish even. We look out for number one. So, that is how I protect myself, because no one else will." He looked at her for a moment with sympathetic brown eyes.

"That's sad."

"That is _life_, Summerby. Now if you ask another question like that, I swear to Merlin I will have no qualms hexing you in the hallways, partnership or not," Astoria snapped before briskly walking away from him.

But Alec Summerby continued to pose a problem. Fucking Hufflepuffs and their blind loyalty— for some reason, the bloke felt pity for Astoria, which made her want to cast a Bat-Boogey Hex every time she saw his smiling face, and as a result of his pity, he felt that it was his job to be her friend in class… which was the absolute _last_ thing she needed. Theodore Nott made fun of her often for it.

"It is not funny, Theo," she would scowl. "It is an _embarrassment_… not to mention a liability."

"Summerby is on some noble quest to find the cuddly kitten inside of you," he would laugh.

"Might want to declaw her first," Malfoy muttered darkly.

"Are we talking about pussy… cats?" Zabini asked before Astoria turned his hair pink.

It was a week later, and Amycus Carrow was idiotically lecturing when he felt like demonstrating the particular spell he was talking about. It was not uncommon for him to use a student as a guinea pig; no one seemed to know whether it was worse for him to call a student to the front of the class or to strike out expectedly during the middle of his lecture. Summerby had raised his hand to ask a question and Amycus lunged for him, a purple spell slicing across the underside of his wrist. The Hufflepuffs in the class shrieked in surprise and there was suddenly blood spilling down Summerby's arm and soaking his shirt front. Astoria refused to directly look at him, but knew he was loosing blood rapidly.

"Clamp it, Summerby, clamp it tight," she whispered, keeping her lips from moving as much as possible. Pale-faced, he clenched his bleeding wrist with his uninjured hand.

"Astoria," he whispered in a frightened voice.

"Wait," she growled, seeing that the Hufflepuffs were still looking at them as Amycus Carrow had returned to his lecture like nothing had past. Slowly, they all turned back around after Carrow yelled at them all to pay attention. "Give it here," she spoke lowly. In the back of the classroom, Summerby put his injured wrist under the table and Astoria peered at the wound. It was a deep cut made by Dark Magic, which made it difficult to stop the bleeding. She tried a few spells that she cast nonverbally; the bleeding seemed to slow. He managed to make it through class, his face pale and sallow.

"Thanks, Astoria. I really owe you one," he said quietly.

"Don't mention it."

"But really…"

"I was not joking, Summerby," Astoria said, pointing her wand at him. "Do _not_ mention it… to _anyone_, or I will give you a real reason to go to the Hospital Wing." He tried to protest and she dug her wand into him. He realized that she was serious and backed off. "Get out of my face," she muttered and he left to go visit Madam Pomfrey.

She _really_ needed a new partner.

* * *

"Malfoy… yes, Malfoy, you are suitable. Come here," Amycus leered. "Longbottom, you're troublesome, come to the front of the classroom." Everyone sat petrified except for the two seventh years that dragged themselves up to the front of the room. "No need for your wand, Longbottom," he smiled and the Gryffindork left his wand on his desk with great hesitation. "Mr. Malfoy, kindly show the class how to perform the Cruciatus Curse."

Everyone had been waiting for that day to come. For months, they had been dancing around _nearly_ unforgiveable curses, but now they were studying the irredeemable trio. The class was not called the Dark Arts for shits and giggles and it was widely assumed that they were going to be taught to perform Unforgivable Spells. They had all been hoping they would just have to torture rats, not people—then again, Longbottom and his lot were as good as rats. Avoiding blatant brutality was all wishful thinking, though; Amycus, despite his deficiency in intelligence, made up for it in cruelty and had no qualms pitting the students against each other.

Draco had cast the Cruciatus Curse before, but that was hardly the point. The point was that Longbottom did not need to be tortured. His only crimes were annoyingly supporting Dumbledore's Army, being a Gryffindork, and a blood-traitor, but that hardly constituted a Cruciatus Curse. Yet, he had no chance of avoiding it with the eyes of Professor Carrow, his House, and the Gryffindors on him.

"_Crucio_," the word flew from his mouth and Longbottom was on the floor in spasms. It was not much, though. His dear Auntie Bellatrix always said that you had to mean it. And he didn't. Which was bad.

"Disappointing," Amycus murmured and the spell flew out of his mouth again. This time, Longbottom was screaming and it was terrifying but he did not let up until Carrow tapped his shoulder as if to say it would suffice. "And perhaps you will not be as much of a disgrace as your father, young Mr. Malfoy," the man smiled. Draco returned to his seat and looked away when Seamus Finnigan dragged Longbottom's feeble body to the Hospital Wing.

After that, the bangs and yelps of pain from the dungeons that leaked into the Slytherin common rooms were replaced with screams—terrible, awful screams of excruciated pain—and the seventh year Slytherins were called in for 'supplementary lessons.'

"Practice makes perfect, young Mr. Malfoy," Alecto Carrow grimaced. "And again—I don't think the blood traitor has learned her lesson." He cast the curse again and screams filled the air.

* * *

Her name was Fiona. She was a fifth year in Ravenclaw. She was Tracey Davis' younger sister. She was tolerable.

Astoria and Fiona sometimes studied together in the library when no one else was around. It was difficult to see their ties when they were ducked over parchment and Astoria figured that in the library, she could forget about the war in a book and the nagging reminder that it was frowned upon to talk to anyone outside her House.

Sometimes she wondered if she even belonged in Slytherin. For all her lies, arrogance, cunning, familiar loyalties, and resourcefulness, Astoria had a thirst for knowledge that could not be quenched and a profound respect for logic. It made her doubt some Pureblood dogmas, but they had been so deeply instilled in her that she was prejudiced whether she liked it or not. She loved school because she was able to learn everyday, even if she had to listen to the Carrows' idiotic ramblings.

But it was not enough. She knew the Slytherin boys' protection would only get her so far; she could only hide behind the books for so long; she could only look after her sister as much she was able to; she could only ignore the screams in the dungeons until she went insane from lack of sleep; she could only play this little game until she needed someone to sit next to, a friend perhaps. And although they did not talk much, Astoria found that she could respect Fiona Davis; and although Astoria considered Fiona her only friend, she would never, not in a thousand years, tell the Ravenclaw that. Because that would just be pathetic. And Astoria Greengrass was not pathetic.

* * *

They adapted, as they always did. Slytherins were blessed with a certain amount of resourcefulness that made them quite adaptable. Some would say that they were a little slimy in the way they could easily flip-flop, but Draco figured it was better to have his feet chopped off than his head.

Nott was the oldest of them, turning seventeen years old the past April. Draco followed him in June and Blaise just turned seventeen a few weeks later. They were still quite young, although lately they had been looking a little more like their fathers and less like their youthful selves… except Blaise, because he was a bastard child (therefore no one knew if he really took after his father) and was too vain to let his looks go.

But they all tortured. Pansy and Bullstrode had their hands at it too. Tracey seemed to be skipped over because she was half-blood and the Carrows felt she was unworthy of the 'supplementary lessons;' Daphne was excused for awhile because she still smiled in the hallways, which seemed impossible to do those days. Draco suspected they thought her incapable of producing the curse because she was not terribly bright or capable of genuine cruelty.

Nott had taken on the habit of obsessively washing his hands when he returned from his lessons. Blaise mounted a punching bag on the wall and took to it like a beast. Pansy wore more eyeliner. Bullstrode lost her appetite, which was actually a benefit for her, considering she was a bit overweight. Crabbe and Goyle were reasonably unaffected; they seemed to enjoy actually being talented at something for the first time in their lives.

Draco flew on his broom. Even though Quidditch was banned, he was still able to grab his Nimbus and take a spin around the grounds. It was thrilling and for a few minutes, he could forget everything and simply feel alive. The rush of cold air against his skin, his hair flying out of his face, his muscles taunt and ready to shift at any second… it was invigorating to have all his senses heightened. Sometimes he even smiled.

But eventually, he had to return to the ground. It was back to the screams that kept them up at night; back to the 'supplementary lessons;' back to being told what to do and think; back to watching his back; back to worrying about his family. Back to servitude. That's all it was—_servitude_. He was a prisoner when at his house, a fallen aristocrat when at school, and a puppet all the time but they adapted because they _had_ to.

It was the middle of November when the Carrows informed Daphne Greengrass she had 'supplementary lessons' to report to. He watched her leave the room, her green eyes wide with fear and panic, perhaps already knowing she would choke when trying to cast the curse. Little Greengrass trotted down the stairs a few minutes later and curled up on a couch to bury her nose in her book; no one answered when she asked where her sister was. Fifteen minutes later, Alecto Carrow came into the Slytherin common room, demanded Astoria Greengrass' presence, and swept the fifth year from the room. Nott abruptly stood up and Draco, who was standing, sat back down; Blaise resumed his pacing.

He knew that Little Greengrass was going to be fine, regardless what they would do to her or make her do. She was fifteen, younger than them all, and he knew she was going to be fine, which positively disgusted him because no one, not even that Little Greengrass Brat, should manage to be fine after being an instrument of torture or the subject of it, Draco decided. She was too young and it was unfair.

He was supposed to protect her. He, Blaise, and Nott were supposed to protect Itty Bitty Greengrass and make sure she survived the year; instead, they tossed her to the hounds. So, they sat and waited until she came back. And she was fine. And there was nothing to talk about, so they said nothing. And when it happened again, they did nothing. And when it happened again, they still did nothing because she was a puppet just like the rest of them and she had to learn. Otherwise, she would not survive the year.

* * *

Alecto Carrow beckoned her with a finger.

"Your presence is required in the dungeons, Greengrass," she crooned. Astoria closed her book, picked up her wand, and followed, not daring to look at Theo, Zabini, and Malfoy, who were on the other side of the common room.

"Is there a problem, Professor, or am I to receive 'supplementary lessons?'" she politely inquired with enough innocent curiosity (_ha… innocent_) to make the professor laugh.

"Just a small problem, Greengrass. Nothing that cannot be remedied with a little… _persuasion_," she insisted. Astoria knew that something had gone wrong. She had come down to the common room apparently right after her sister had left and no one seemed willing to say where she had gone. Astoria deduced that Daphne had to be in the dungeons. The thought made her gulp and walk briskly, knowing she would have to be prepared to take some action in defense of her sister. The door swung open to reveal Crabbe and Daphne talking and a seventh year Gryffindor (that Astoria recognized as Lavender Brown) huddled on the floor, looking positively terrified.

"You have to do it, you can't just say—"

"I know, Vincent, I just can't, I _can't_—"

"All is well, Mr. Crabbe, I have brought persuasion," Alecto Carrow grinned, shoving Astoria forward.

"Daphne, what is going on?" Astoria asked softly and Daphne burst out into sobs.

"I can't do it, I can't, I'm so, _so_ sorry, Tori, I can't, it's—"

"Shut it, Greengrass," Alecto snarled. "You _will_ learn your lesson." Astoria felt a wand under her neck and suddenly knew what was going on. Daphne was supposed to perform the Cruciatus Curse on Brown but had balked; Alecto Carrow cleverly thought that threatening the life of her little sister would force Daphne to perform the curse. Little did she know, Daphne Greengrass did not operate that way and Astoria Greengrass would never let it happen on the Carrows' terms.

Daphne had collapsed on the ground in hysterical sobs, nearly pulling out her hair in abject anguish. She was becoming more riled up by the second, insisting that she could not do it over and over again like a mantra while Alecto Carrow yelled back at Daphne to make her see that she had no option but to do as she was told, or else her dear little sister would be hurt. Astoria knew Daphne could not do anything under pressure and she sure as hell could not do anything while being threatened. Daphne had no way of helping or protecting her little sister, even if she wanted to; besides, it was Astoria's job to do the protecting.

"She will not do it," Astoria said with her back to Alecto Carrow. "She cannot do it. She will never truly mean the curse. She is incompetent in that manner and cannot do a thing under pressure. It was foolish of you to bring me down here and expect that it would change anything or that I would be sufficient motivation." Daphne continued sobbing on the ground and Crabbe looked quite bewildered, not sure whether to comfort the very pretty girl or remain stony and unmoved. Alecto's wand dug further in her neck and Astoria knew suddenly what she would have to do. "I will take my sister's place. I will learn her lesson."

"You're a fifth year!" Crabbe snorted but Alecto Carrow looked mildly interested.

"Go, Daphne," Astoria ordered.

"Tori, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I know, Daph, just _leave_," she insisted, her voice a whisper. She did not want her sister to see what she had to do. Astoria had no choice but to protect her sister… even if it meant doing something Unforgiveable.

"Mr. Crabbe, you may take the elder Miss Greengrass back to the common rooms," Alecto said before turning to Astoria. "You understand that by doing this, you will have to attend any further lessons you may require?"

"I understand completely, Professor," Astoria said coolly, taking a step back from the professor and rubbing the skin where Alecto's wand dug into her neck.

"Then, you may begin at any time," Alecto Carrow slowly grinned, gesturing toward Brown. Astoria saw Crabbe lead her sister out of the room, Daphne giving her one last pained look before the door to the dungeon shut behind her. Astoria took a deep breath and pointed her wand at her victim.

"_Crucio_."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass returned to the common room being supported by Crabbe. She was sobbing uncontrollably, only able to mutter that she couldn't do it. The sentence repeatedly fell from her lips like a broken record.

"Crabbe, where is the younger Greengrass?" Draco asked.

"She's back in the dungeons still, I reckon," Crabbe shrugged, unceremoniously depositing Daphne on a couch.

"What is she doing there?" Nott inquired, his voice dangerously low.

"What _she_ couldn't," Crabbe responded, pointing to Daphne and her wails grew louder.

"_Fuck_," Blaise muttered lowly.

"_Fuck_ is right," Nott growled. "She's a fucking _fifth year!_"

"Fucking Little Greengrass Brat," Draco murmured.

"She has to learn her lessons," Crabbe muttered, causing them all to look at the buffoon in surprise and the room to fall silent with the exception of Daphne's sniffling. "We _all_ have to learn our lessons." It was perhaps the smartest thing the shithead had ever said and he did not even know it. Daphne burst out in fresh sobs and Nott stood up and stormed upstairs.

Little Greengrass, Draco supposed, would probably not be so little after she returned.

* * *

Her first go at the Cruciatus Curse was not too successful. Brown jerked in pain on the dungeon floor and let out a pitiful shriek. Alecto Carrow tutted.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Ickle Greengrass?" she crooned.

"Supplementary lessons, obviously," Astoria coolly responded, "lessons that require a bit of teaching." A cruel grin flashed across Alecto's face.

"You have to _mean_ it, Greengrass. Anger or disgust can only get you so far. You have to want to make her hurt and _relish_ every second of it," Alecto advised her with a curious gaze. Astoria turned back to Brown.

Daphne had not wanted to hurt Brown: she had done nothing wrong to Daphne and Daphne could never take pleasure in another person's pain. But, Brown had done something to Astoria; she had forced Astoria to blow her cover again and put Daphne at risk. So yes, she needed her to hurt and she wanted her to hurt.

"_Crucio_," she said and this time, Brown's screams echoed off the wall in the dungeon, her body shuddering and jerking on the cold stone floor. After a few seconds, she released the spell and looked over to Alecto Carrow for approval.

"Very good, Greengrass. You just may be your father's daughter after all." Astoria looked haughty until she was asked to do it again. And again. And again. And again. In between spells, Alecto Carrow taunted the crying girl, asking if Potter would come to save her and how she liked being a blood traitor. Alecto was satisfied by the sobbing and informed Astoria that she was done with her lesson for the day.

"That is it?" Astoria asked, surprised. Alecto Carrow seemed just as stunned as Astoria.

"Yes, we will continue next week, Greengrass."

"I thought that was a rather short play-date with Miss Brown," Astoria said, fixing her face to be completely unreadable, a talent she had picked up from her father. "I thought I may continue… _alone_." Brown shuddered on the floor.

"You are quite the dark horse, Greengrass," she laughed before leaving Brown and Astoria in the dungeon.

"Lavender Brown," Astoria slowly recited, languidly circling the girl with an air of authority, "seventh year Gryffindor. Pure-blood. Dated Weaselbee in sixth year. Member of Dumbledore's Army. Your first time with the Cruciatus?" The girl whimpered and nodded. "Me too," Astoria cruelly grinned, taking her sweet time. "Except it was a little different for you, was it not?" she sweetly smiled. Brown shuddered again. "If I were you, I would want to forget it all." Brown tried to stand, but Astoria flicked her wand and the girl was on the ground again. "It is very rude, Brown, to leave when someone is talking to you. Although I would not expect you to understand, being a blood traitor and all. But I shant keep you long," Astoria sighed. "So, I will ask you one question, Miss Brown: would you like to forget?"

"What?" the girl breathed.

"Would you like to forget that all of this happened? Everything that happened in this room could be out of mind, and I am asking if you would like it. I ask, because I can make it happen," Astoria fiddled with her wand. Lavender Brown looked up at her with tears in her eyes and responded:

"Yes."

"_Stupefy_," Astoria said and the girl looked shocked and betrayed before she slumped to the ground. Astoria straightened herself up and concentrated on the memory charm she would perform. Lavender Brown would have to forget everything that happened in the dungeon—all the pain and taunting, the scene her older sister made, Alecto's lesson for Astoria, and Astoria's proposition. It was like cutting thread, Astoria mused as she snipped away the memories from Brown's unconscious body.

"_Obliviate_," Astoria said and she knew she had done the job well. Astoria cast a Cheering Charm on Brown in hope that it would give her just enough energy to make it to the Hospital Wing before she walked to the door of the dungeon and whispered, "_Rennervate._" Brown stirred and Astoria shut the door behind her. The girl would not suspect a thing.

When she returned to Slytherin common room, Theo, Malfoy, and Zabini sat waiting for her with looks on their faces as if they expected her to say something.

"It is done," she said. "I had no choice."

"Astoria…" Nott murmured.

"It is fine," she said with a little more malice than she would have liked. "I learned my lesson." She turned on her heel and went up to her room. Nothing more was said on the matter.

* * *

Draco always maintained that the Gryffindorks were a gaggle of stupid, rash rabble-rousers with nothing better to do than launch noble plans that accomplished nothing. That was probably why Weaselette, Longbottom, and Loony Lovegood were caught breaking into Snape's office. _Figured_.

The Carrows apprehended them and were furious, about ready to hex them into oblivion. They called Draco and Little Greengrass to assist in restraining them and to partake in uncovering the rest of their plans until Snape came along and put a stop to it.

"But they were caught breaking into your office, sir!" Alecto protested, pouting that she would not get to have a little fun that evening.

"Seeing how it is my office," Snape drawled, "I will see to it that they are punished. Why are these two here?" he gestured to Draco and Little Greengrass.

"To help restrain and punish the students," Amycus answered, seeming to be proud of himself for concocting such a brilliant plan.

"You are two, full-grown wizards who need the help of two _students_ to restrain three _other_ students?" Snape asked and Amycus' smile faltered. Snape eyed Little Greengrass, who was studying the floor, for a moment. He shoved his wand under her chin to tilt his face up to him. Seeing the celery green eyes, Snape questioned, "Greengrass…?" She nodded her head. "Astoria, yes," he recalled. "What year are you in?"

"Fifth," she responded and something akin to disgust flashed across Snape's eyes.

"A _child_," he snorted. Little Greengrass did not take kindly to the insult and crossed her arms petulantly. "Draco, kindly escort Miss Greengrass back to the common room. Amycus and Alecto, you are no longer needed. I will handle this."

Later, Draco discovered Weaselette, Longbottom, and Loony Lovegood were given detention in the Forbidden Forest with that half-breed Hagrid. They were lucky, considering students were punished with the Cruciatus Curse for _existing_ while the trio had committed a real crime and were practically unpunished. Draco wondered what motives Snape could possibly have for letting them slide, but there were bigger consequences to worry about.

Firstly, the Carrows started beckoning Little Greengrass to the dungeons to do their dirty business at least once a week.

Second, the entire school was instilled in hope from the Gryffindors' act of rebellion. And frankly, having hope in Hogwarts was more dangerous than the Carrows themselves.

* * *

"Oh, can you see them too?" a silver-haired girl wearing radish earrings asked Astoria. She had been outside for a half hour holding a dead bird, hoping that the threstrals would approach her. The enigmatic creatures always intrigued Astoria.

"No, I cannot," Astoria responded, giving the bird an enticing shake. "Are they nearby?"

"Oh yes, Ajax is quite close to you and Zeno is right behind him. They are twins, rather rare, but they have very different natures," she continued talking. Normally, Astoria would have shut her up in a second, but the girl had a very soothing voice and seemed honest, if a bit eccentric. "I don't have a twin, but we sure do—or did—have many of them at Hogwarts: Padma and Parvati Patil, and Fred and George Weasley. I suppose that's many for how small our school is. It makes me wonder why the castle is so large. I don't think we use half of the rooms in there. I would like to think that school is a place for students to grow and so the castle itself is trying to make room for us. It's a nice thought, isn't it? I'm Luna, Luna Lovegood, by the way."

"Astoria…Greengrass," she responded quietly.

"I remember," Luna nodded. "You were with the Carrows the night Ginny, Neville, and I tried to break into Headmaster Snape's office." She did not seemed to be angry or judgmental, greatly confusing Astoria. "We do what we must for protection," she shrugged. They were quiet for a moment and Astoria felt it was an awkward silence, even though Luna seemed unperturbed. Eventually, Ajax the thestral had crept up all the way to Astoria and helped himself to the bird. Astoria reached out to pet him, smiling as she did so. It felt like it had been years since she last smiled.

"Sometimes I feel like we are so concerned about surviving that we forget about living," Luna mused aloud. "And it is shame, really, because we are so young. I am glad that you cannot see the thestrals, Astoria. Although, I think that even if you could see them, you would still like them. They are creatures that prefer to stay in the dark, even if they are actually quite nice. I believe you would understand that tendency."

Astoria did not respond and continued to run her hands over the thestral. At that point, she would have given anything to hop on its back and fly out of that hellhole of a school. But she didn't. The odd notion was a perfect paradigm of just how shitty her life had become in the past few months; it did not help that she knew the worst was yet to come.


	4. Chapter 4: Parental Problems

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for all the reviews! I really am shocked how many different people have reviewed the first three chapters of this fanfic. For those of you who read my other HP fanfic, I'm going to have to beg a little more patience. My head has been positively spinning the last two weeks with schoolwork and I have yet to receive respite. I really am doing my best to pump out the last chapter, but time is a tricky thing. Anyway, in the meanwhile enjoy this chapter! Don't forget to review!_

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ON THE OTHER SIDE

_Chapter 4: Parental Problems_

It was the beginning of December—about three weeks away from Christmas break— when Astoria received a letter from her parents. The handwriting was frenzied and the owl was exhausted, having flown through the castle in search for her. She grabbed the letter and took off at brisk walk toward the Slytherin common room. She had done a good job of remaining invisible in recent days because no one noticed her anxious gait as she slid through the crowds and wrestled with the wax seal. Her eyes quickly scanned the contents of the letter.

_Astoria—_

_We are fleeing. The Gringotts account with yours and your sister's inheritance is available to you. Do not come looking for us. We will not write until it is safe. Take care of yourself and your sister._

_Your loving parents,_

_Thomas and Calliope Greengrass_

_P.S. Burn immediately_

The only way out of being a Death Eater was death itself or going underground, and it was better to be dead than to be caught. Her father had never taken the Mark, but it was expected that her family join His cause because of their Pureblood status and general wealth. Now, they had made their decision: if they were not with the Dark Lord, they were against Him and automatically had target signs drawn on their chests.

Suddenly, Astoria Greengrass found herself dreadfully alone with only the terrible premonition of what was to come as her company.

* * *

Little Greengrass burst into the Slytherin common clutching a letter and bitterly cursing. She walked hurriedly over to the fireplace and dropped the letter in the flames, still cursing. Draco had never seen her so agitated. Normally she was cool and impassive—it was the way of most Slytherins, so it was obvious that something had gone terribly wrong. However, it was none of his business. It was not like he needed to deal with someone else's problems.

"Malfoy, where is my sister?" she asked impatiently, her hand clutching her wand until her knuckles were dead white. Her green eyes were wide open and her usually neatly pinned fringe was out of place, making her appear rather flustered.

"Upstairs," he responded dully.

"Looking for me?" Daphne asked pleasantly and a look of relief flashed across Little Greengrass' face.

"Thank _Merlin_," she sighed, practically leaping across the room and whispering lowly to her sister. "Go up to the boys' room and do not leave. They will not search for you there. They will want me, just _me_…"

"Tori, what's going on?" Daphne whimpered and her sister looked at her with fearful eyes. Little Greengrass took her sister by the arm, dragged her out of his earshot, and whispered in her ear. Daphne's eyes went as wide as her sister's and her face went pale from shock. "They didn't. They couldn't have. It's too—"

"Well, they did, Daph. Think about it: it has all been planned. Now just go up there and do not come down. I will take care of this," Little Greengrass assured her sister. At that moment, Nott and Blaise came into the room.

"No, you can't do this, Tori. How do you even know that they are going to come after you?"

"Daphne, shut up and go upstairs."

"What happened?" Nott asked, instantly sensing the tension in the air. Even Blaise seemed abnormally serious.

"You can't order me around, Tori! I am your older sister and I am involved as much as you are!"

"No, you are not, Daph, you serve no purpose to them—"

"Astoria, what is going on?" Nott asked more forcefully this time. He was actually rather intimidating when he raised his voice, considering it was a privilege to hear much of anything coming out of Nott's mouth.

"I am fucked," she muttered to herself, her throat tight. "Damn it, it was not supposed to—" She paced the room. "Daphne, go upstairs now!" she barked and Daphne began crying.

"Astoria, talk to us," Nott ordered.

"_No_," she all but shrieked. "I cannot tell you. There is nothing you can do to protect me. I am on my own, as I should be. Keep Daphne safe," she ordered. Just then, a noise was heard outside the common room and all heads whipped around to detect the source. "Damn it, Zabini, lock her in your room if you have to. Just _do it_, damn it." Blaise did not even question her for a second, swooping up the seventh year in mid-faint and quickly carrying her upstairs. "Please keep her safe. I am out—hear me? _I am out._ I cannot serve any more use to you—I cannot remain invisible any longer. There is nothing more to—"

Just then, Crabbe, Goyle, Amycus, and Alecto Carrow burst into the room. Draco watched as the frightened look on her face disappeared and was replaced with a stony gaze as she slowly turned to face the intruders. Fierce determination was hidden in her eyes and Draco knew the Little Greengrass Brat was not going down without a fight. It was almost amusing had her hands not been trembling behind her back.

"Greengrass!" Alecto howled. "Where are your parents?"

"Abroad," Astoria murmured with an air of annoyance.

"Well, we know _that_," Amycus shouted. "We need to know _exactly where_."

"How would I know?" she asked airily as Blaise sauntered down the stairs, putting on a perplexed face as if he had just come to see what all the shouting was about.

"Because a Gringotts account has opened in your name." Little Greengrass' spine stiffened. "Crabbe, Goyle, seize her," Alecto murmured and Astoria feigned surprise. "I think she will find that she does know after a little _persuasion_." The look of determination slipped from her face and Draco suddenly realized why she had pulled herself out of their little Slytherin pact. Her parents must have fled in order to avoid joining sides, leaving their daughters with a vault in Astoria's name to provide for them in their absence. If their daughters knew anything, it would be the one with the money and thus, the Carrows had sought Astoria out and she would never be invisible again. She was a traitor in their eyes and Blaise, Nott, and he had to watch her be dragged out of the common room without lifting a finger to help.

"No!" she shrieked. "Do not touch me! Do not lay one filthy, inbred hand on—_no_, let me go! Fucking trolls, unhand me! You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! _Let me go!_"

No longer needing to maintain discretion, she kicked and screamed her way out of the common room and into the hallway, where students who had just completed classes in the dungeon watched the Slytherin be dragged into that terrible room.

"Did the Slytherin just quote Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_?" asked a Gryffindor to a Hufflepuff.

"I believe she just did," the Hufflepuff murmured. "But isn't she a Pureblood?"

Draco, Nott, and Blaise stood outside the common room, watching the students whisper how a Slytherin had been taken to the dungeons to be punished. They gossiped, speculated what she had done, and what would be done with her, but they all quickly grew silent when her first scream rang out.

"No one is safe anymore," Blaise haughtily eyed the crowd before banging the door to the Slytherin common room shut.

* * *

"Greengrass, this would be exceptionally easier if you did not put up such a fuss," Alecto Carrow hissed.

"This would be exceptionally easier if you called your dogs off me," Astoria sneered, trying to pull herself away from Crabbe and Goyle's grip. "We could sort this all out like civilized Purebloods."

"You lose that title and privilege when you get in His way," Alecto retorted.

"I have done nothing of the sort. Now call your dogs off," Astoria snapped back.

"Where are your parents?" Amycus interrogated her.

"Abroad, as I said before. Must I repeat myself like a broken record?" she asked dryly, earning a disapproving look from Amycus.

"Where exactly are they?"

"I do not know, as I said before. Continuing asking that question will not change the answer," she rolled her eyes.

"It is surprising how people find out they know more than they let on after the proper persuasion," Alecto leered. "Your parents, Miss Greengrass, were greeted abroad by fellow members devoted to His cause. They benevolently tried to make your parents see the proper path, but they were unconvinced. Your parents brutally attacked His supporters and have fled, but have left you with a Gringotts vault. We need to know where they went and what is in that vault."

"I tire of repeating myself, Professor Carrow," Astoria drawled and suddenly she was thrown back ten feet. She skidded along the stones, bruising where she abruptly crashed on the floor and rolling until she was out of momentum. She gathered herself together and shakily stood up. "Was that necessary to find out what you need to know?" she inquired, holding her head proudly.

She was being a little too blasé—Zabini would have been proud, but the truth was that her defiant, haughty words were certainly not helping her cause. However, she could not help it: she was far superior to the Carrows, who had little to their name and fortune; the Carrows could not hold a light to the Greengrass clan, who had an impressive lineage and history while the Carrows were little more than whiny infants in comparison.

"You seem to not take this as seriously as you should be, Greengrass," Alecto snarled.

"On the contrary, Professor, I find this to be a very grievous offense. You have accused my parents of what you would call 'treason' and erroneously supposed that I have anything to do with their so-called 'disappearance.' You have no right to then proceed to drag me to this room in front of my peers and dare to indict me for—"

"I tire of her prattling," Alecto yawned. "Brother?"

She never heard the incantation or saw the spell coming, but there was no denying what it was. Astoria had heard descriptions of it and seen its effects first hand—it was like one thousand white-hot knives boring into the skin, like a herd of stampeding centaurs, like being submerged in a vat of boiling oil. The colorful descriptions went on, but such imagery was inadequate. In fact, words themselves were inadequate to describe the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. It was pain at its truest element, its core essence, its most precise definition. She did not even realize she was screaming until it was over. It was entirely consuming and she knew it had only been a few seconds under the curse, yet it was so overwhelming that time ceased to exist.

She did not want to get up. Astoria had never been more afraid in her entire life and her Slytherin mind began coming up with the words to make sure it never happened again. The pain… _Merlin_, she could not handle it. It was the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced.

"We will ask again. Where are your mother and father?" Alecto asked, a sick grin of satisfaction on her face. Astoria had never hated someone so much in her entire life. Not only were they an abomination to all Purebloods, they were cruel, stupid, and morbid. But, she was so afraid that she had to answer them.

"I do not know, I _swear_ I do not know," she insisted frantically.

"Amycus?" Alecto said and her body curled in on itself as her screams once again filled the air. This time it was longer and when they stopped and she could begin to feel something other than pain, she recognized the tears on her cheeks, the blood on her knees, and the cool stone underneath her. Every sense was heightened in the most terrible way possible: her breathing was harsh and rapid, Amycus' cruel chuckle reached her ears, Goyle's shifting feet resembled the sound of fingernails on a chalk board, her own heart seemed to be pounding in her head, and a metallic taste filled her mouth. "Greengrass," Alecto sung in a horrifying, lilting melody, "do you need more persuasion?"

"There is solely money in the vault," the words tumbled from her mouth after she rediscovered her ability to speak. Her voice was gravelly from the screaming and pitifully small. "Money for tuition and enough to live on for a year after school. That is all that is in the vault, I promise," Astoria entreated.

"And what of your parents?" Alecto asked gleefully.

"I do not know, I swear—" A powerful spell hit her in the gut and sent her tumbling away. Astoria coughed painfully after the air was knocked out of her and she felt something warm slid down her neck from behind her ear. Her ears were ringing…

"You must have at least an inkling where they are."

"No, I honestly do not know, please, please, _no!_" Her pleading for a respite turned into screams as the curse once again hit her. The spell seemed to grow in intensity, or perhaps it was just more prolonged. It had reached her head, though, disallowing all coherent thoughts and amplifying her nerves, which reeked of pure pain. There was nothing but pain—the floor was gone, as was time, any morsel of cunning, and any scrap of hope. She screamed so long that she blacked out for a moment and when she woke up, she had to remind herself how to breathe. It was absurd in the most refined sense of the word; the pain was incoherent and senseless.

"Greengrass, this can all end now if you tell us what you know," Alecto comforted her, sounding completely discomforting.

"I have told you everything I know!" Astoria sobbed, wishing that it would be over, even wishing she did know where her parents were so that the torment would end. The Carrows would not stop until they found out what they had wanted and Astoria could not even think clearly enough to deliver a passable lie. Speaking was a difficulty as it was, with her voice nearly gone and every muscle in her body fatigued and stiff. A hand seized the back of her neck, making it difficult to breathe as she was dragged across the floor.

"Your parents should have just killed themselves, Greengrass," Alecto sighed. "Pity, to have to do this," she murmured pitilessly. Astoria did not even bother to get up when she was released. She was done, resigned to their torture. It seemed like all she did was scream and although Alecto taunted her and interrogated her, the words were lost and everything faded into pain.

* * *

Blaise slammed the door to the Slytherin common room shut.

"What just happened?" he demanded, eyes livid. Upstairs, they could hear pounding and sobs where he had locked Daphne Greengrass in their room. The sound made Draco's stomach lurch.

"They took Astoria," Nott said, his face whiter than Draco's (which was saying something, considering the limited amount of sun his pasty skin had received while in hiding all summer).

"Well, I fucking got that much!" Blaise shouted. "What did she say?"

"She is out. She cannot be invisible and she cannot be useful to us, and we cannot protect her," Draco recited apathetically.

"What did she fucking _do?_" Blaise yelled. Draco was quite irritated how visibly angry Blaise was by this occurrence; why could they all just not give a fuck, as they would have done in prior years?

"It was not her. It was her parents. I think they went underground," Nott explained calmly. Draco eyed the lone Slytherin, finding his manner of speech unnerving. There was something uncanny about Nott and Draco did not like it… "And there is a vault in Astoria's name at Gringotts. They probably need to discover what is inside and they want to find out where her parents are. They took her figuring she would be the one to know." Little Greengrass' screams pierced the walls of the common room and they all paled. They had never heard one of their own being in there begging for relief; they had only been on the other side. They were all quiet for a moment after the screaming ceased, all too busy holding their breaths to speak.

"But she doesn't," Blaise supplied. "She doesn't know _anything_."

"Her parents were fools to think they could flee, but they would be more foolish if they gave Astoria any information that could harm her," Nott sighed.

"But she's a bloody fifth year. She's _fifteen_," Blaise insisted.

"We have all tortured younger, Zabini. Age makes no difference," Nott reminded Blaise. "And she is still useful. We need her, Malfoy," Nott declared, turning to Draco.

"We need her or she needs us?" Draco demanded, seizing Nott by his robes. "You are not telling us something, Nott, and it is positively _infuriating_. The Greengrass Brat is _not_ our responsibility. She is more likely to get us all killed than to save us."

"Exactly," Nott said, smiling ironically. They heard Little Greengrass' screams once again and the room seemed colder than ever. Draco released Nott's robes and tossed him back in disgust.

"That hardly makes sense," Blaise shook his head. "Look, I feel bad for the kid, but there is nothing we can do to help her or protect her. Her parents fucked up: they are marked as traitors, so she is marked as a traitor."

"We are all Marked, in some way or another," Nott said coolly, eyeing their arms. The words sunk in for a moment until suddenly, the door to the common room burst open to reveal Severus Snape, who appeared to have quickly walked through the castle. Immediately, they stepped away from each other and put bored looks on their faces while nodding respectfully to their Headmaster.

"Gentlemen," Snape began, "do you perhaps know who is in the dungeons at the moment?"

"The Professors Carrow, I presume," Blaise suggested cheekily. Snape seemed uninterested by the seventh year's statement of the obvious.

"And perhaps Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle were called in for supplementary lessons," Draco added with a shrug of ambivalence.

"So, who then, I ask, is screaming?" Snape asked and as if on cue, another chilling scream filled the air. The three boys all turned their heads away, silent for a long moment. Snape waited patiently for an answer.

"Astoria Greengrass," Nott finally said. Draco peered up to catch Snape's reaction. The Headmaster looked a little surprised at first, then peeved, then angry. Of course, this was all barely perceptible.

"Oh," Snape said. "Very well." He pulled out a watch from his pocket, frowning lightly when he looked at the hands. Another scream filled their air. Nott seemed to be growing paler by the second. "And how long has Miss Greengrass been serving her detention? No more than ten minutes, perhaps?" The boys nodded their heads. Snape stowed away his watch and patted another pocket as if to ensure that its contents were still safely tucked away. The Headmaster nodded to them and left the common room. Snape opened the door to the dungeon as another scream tore through the air. Nott turned green and rushed to the bathroom presumably and Draco calmly shut the door. Blaise paced the room, shaking his head before finally running up the stairs two at a time to his room, where he was met by a furious, terrified, and screaming Daphne Greengrass.

Meanwhile, Draco sat in the Slytherin common room, ignoring the retching sounds from the bathroom and the sobbing from upstairs. It had been awhile since he felt much of anything besides fear and apathy, so this new sensation was rather novel: pity. He had a feeling that the Little Greengrass Brat was as much disgusted by the sentiment as he was and he felt positively revolted by his behavior. Fucking Potter would have foolishly saved the girl, but Draco Malfoy was smarter than that. However, Nott knew something more than he did and it really irritated him. The Greengrass Brat was not his to worry about… but it was _hell_ to be little Astoria Greengrass. She was just trying to save her family and there was no such thing as a small victory. Thus, the pity. However, he tried to banish the sentiment because if he pitied Little Greengrass, then he pitied himself.

The Malfoys were excellent in hosting parties, but a pity party was not one of them. Draco told himself that she received what was coming to her and stretched himself out on one of the couches. He had gotten quite good at lying recently, because he almost believed himself.

* * *

Someone was tapping her face, urging her to focus. Astoria was not sure if her eyes were open and then when she realized they were, blurs of color came into focus.

"Greengrass… Miss Greengrass," she recognized the voice of Headmaster Severus Snape. She was so damn tired and so her eyes began to close… "No Greengrass, keep them open. Honestly, Amycus, this is hardly helpful," the professor drawled with enough coldness to freeze a room.

"She was… unresponsive," Alecto defended her brother.

"Funny," Snape murmured. "She still is," he said, patting her cheek once again to urge her to open her eyes. Astoria curled up in a tighter ball, her muscles cramped up in the fetal position. "_Aguamenti_." Cold water splashed her face and her body jolted. Suddenly, she was able to take in the room—the dungeon, with the Carrows, Crabbe, Goyle, and Snape (when did he get there?)—and she had processed what had happened to her. She had been _tortured_. The room spun and her stomach threatened to relinquish its contents. "There, better," Snape said, pursing his lips before turning to the Carrows. "You commenced early."

"We thought we would get a little head start," Alecto grinned.

"That was not part of the plan."

"Improvisation, Headmaster." It only took one icy glare for the gloating smile on her face to disappear.

"Insubordination," Snape seemed to correct her. "He will not be pleased."

"Severus," Alecto began, but Snape silenced her with a dismissive wave of his hand. Astoria never realized how imposing Snape could be and yet, she was so glad that he was there.

"In my experience, I find my manner of persuasion more effective than yours," he said, producing a vial from his robe pocket. Conjuring a cup and filling it with water, Snape measured out three drops and handed the cup to Astoria. "Drink." She did not even question it—Veritaserum was better than the Cruciatus any day.

"Where are your parents?"

"Abroad, out of the country," the words fell from her mouth.

"Do you know their exact location?"

"No."

"Do you have any speculations where they might be?"

"No. But they do not like cold weather. Like Sweden." Alecto grinned.

"Have you had correspondence with them?"

"Only two letters."

"What were the contents of the letters?" Astoria tried to bite her tongue not to respond, but the words came anyway.

"The first detailed my parents' changes to their last will and testament and the nature of …and the nature of my sister's and my inheritance and the second…the second was to inform me that they were…were fleeing and to take care of my sister and do not try to find them." The words tasted disgusting and Astoria wanted to be sick.

"Does the vault contain the inheritance?"

"Yes. Money for tuition and moderate living expenses after graduation." Her head spun in exhaustion.

"And the second letter gave no clue as to their intended location?"

"No," Astoria responded and Snape turned to the Carrows.

"There, she knows nothing. Thomas and Calliope Greengrass are slightly smarter than that, as I thought. Now, you will do well to follow my own method in the future rather than yours, Amycus and Alecto."

"But what of the girl?" Alecto screeched, unsatisfied that her fun would end so suddenly. "What to do with her? She is a traitor!"

"I am not a traitor, my parents are," Astoria insisted, her instinct for self-preservation kicking in. Snape looked at her curiously.

"The girl is correct. She has not proved to be disloyal in any way, has she? I even recall you mentioning that she had her father's flair with the Cruciatus," Snape mused. Alecto looked like she was about to pop a blood vessel.

"She does," Alecto gritted her teeth. "But not being disloyal does not make her loyal!" she cried out triumphantly. "She must prove her loyalty," Alecto insisted, grabbing Astoria's left arm. Astoria pulled and yanked, screaming and cursing the utter truth—that she did not want that _bitch_ anywhere near her left arm.

"That will not be necessary, Alecto," Snape drawled. "She is but an infant and of no use to Him. However, she is of use to us. You may continue your supplementary lessons with her. I think that ought to show her loyalty enough, do you not agree Amycus?" Amycus dumbly nodded his head and Alecto looked incensed at her brother's quick acquiescence. "Mr. Goyle, if you would please help Miss Greengrass to the Hospital Wing, that would be convenient." He gave a gesture as if to make everyone leave and suddenly, the room was empty except for Astoria and Gregory Goyle.

She curled up on the floor, water still dripping from her nose as she clutched her left forearm, silent tears rolling down her face. Her stomach churned from the Veritaserum and she could still taste blood in her mouth. Her head hurt from where she split open the skin behind her ear and all of her muscles were cramped from writhing on the floor. All she wanted to do was sleep…

"Greengrass… um, Astoria?" a low, raspy voice inquired. "Can you walk?" It was Goyle, being his usual, painfully awkward self. Still curled in the fetal position, Astoria slowly shook her head. "You should go to the Hospital Wing… should I, would you like me to, would it be best if I carried you?" Astoria shook her head more vehemently. "You are hurt," he insisted and Astoria was beginning to wonder if something had finally penetrated that thick skull of his. If she had the energy, she would have scoffed, but as of then, she remained motionless on the floor. "I could… I could just help you walk. Not carry you, but just hold some of your weight… not that you weigh a lot! I could carry you easily, you know," he continued, placing a hand on her.

"Do not touch me!" she yelped, retracting from his touch. He probably wore a pathetic, hurt look on his face.

"I… is there something I can do? Snape said to get you to the Hospital Wing…"

"No Hospital Wing," she managed to croak out.

"Um, alright, but I think it would be best if…" Astoria continued to slowly shake her head, which eventually silenced Goyle. He seemed to pace the room a bit and Astoria closed her eyes, content with lying on the floor until she could muster up the energy to haul herself to the Slytherin common room. "Astoria… I want to help… you're… you're really pretty." That was as much as Astoria could handle. Really, trying to flatter her after watching her be tortured? It was almost funny, had it not made her nearly sick to her stomach.

"Goyle?" she asked softly and he was probably giving her the most pathetically earnest expression he could muster; this expression in all likelihood resembled the grimace of a person suffering from constipation. "Just _leave_, Goyle. Just _go_," she said with a tight throat, choking back tears.

"Oh… alright," he said disappointedly and shuffled out of the room. Astoria sighed and began to cry, still in horror what had past and even more terrified of what was to come.

* * *

Crabbe slipped into the common room about ten minutes after Snape exited, mentioning something about wanting a shower before dinner, but Draco was surprised when Goyle came in a few minutes later. Goyle looked oddly flustered and nearly tripped over the coffee table (what a buffoon).

"Where is Greengrass?" Draco asked coolly. Goyle flushed and stammered for a few moments. "Merlin, Goyle, it is not a complicated question. The last word was tricky, I know, but do try to sound it out if you are having difficulties. Say it with me now: Grreee—"

"In the dungeon. Snape said to take her to the Hospital Wing, but she wouldn't let me help her…"

"So you just left her there?" Draco inquired with an arched eyebrow and Goyle proceeded to stammer more. It was getting quite annoying really. "Goyle, semi-coherent sentences are a basic necessity to function as a human being: how have you made it thus far?"

"I didn't know what else to do!" he defended himself, ignoring Draco's rhetorical question. "She got mad at me, but I think she's really hurt and she was just going to lie there, I don't know why…"

"Go take a shower," Draco muttered. "You smell like a dog." The words seemed to strike Goyle oddly and he ducked his head and left the room. Draco sighed, pacing before he went to his room, which had gotten oddly quiet. The door was slightly open from when Crabbe and Goyle slipped out to go to the showers and Draco peered in.

Daphne Greengrass was curled up in a ball on Blaise's bed, her blonde hair falling in soft waves across the pillow and her shoulders hunched up in defeat. Blaise sat precariously at the edge of the bed, looking at the blonde morosely.

"Want to know a secret, Daph?" Blaise asked her sleeping form. "I am so sorry. This is all my fault."

The words hit Draco in the gut as he quietly made his way back downstairs. Since when did they apologize? Since when did they feel guilty? Since when did they pity or think of others? What messes they had become because of this damn war.

Blaise and Nott were right. It was Blaise's fault for letting Daphne see his Mark and involving Astoria, but it was Draco's fault for pulling Blaise in, and it was Nott's fault for convincing Draco that he needed to start questioning his loyalties. It was all of their faults that Astoria had been folded into their little group. And while they certainly were not responsible for each other, if one of them failed, they all failed. With that, he marched out of the common room and carefully opened the door to the dungeon, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.

Little Greengrass had never looked littler. She was curled up in a tiny ball, blood oozing from behind her ear, and clutching her left arm. A shock of fear flooded Draco and he quickly knelt down to her form and pulled her left arm from her grasp. It was only then that she noticed his presence, her red-rimmed green eyes filled with shock and fear. He released a deep sigh of relief when his fingers grazed the pale white flesh of the underside of her left forearm. He felt the little girl shiver and he released her arm, which she immediately retracted into her body. Draco stood up and took a few steps back from her.

"Goyle said you would not go to the Hospital Wing," he began and waited for her to respond. When she did not, he continued. "You ought to be checked out."

"I already have," she said in an ironic voice. Draco had missed the joke if there was one. "No Hospital Wing. It will look bad… for the Slytherins," she managed to whisper, her voice painfully soft. Draco nodded in agreement. It was bad enough that everyone knew a Slytherin ended up in the dungeons, but going to the Hospital Wing would cause even more whispers.

"Understandable," he nodded. "So, would you like to go back to the common room?" It took a long time for her to respond, as if she was fighting off exhaustion and irritation.

"…eventually."

"Eventually?"

"When I can walk."

"When you can walk?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"Merlin, Little Greengrass," he snorted, "you are possibly the only witch in the world who could manage to say something remotely clever after being…" his voice trailed off.

"…after being _tortured_, Malfoy," she calmly finished his sentence for him. "You also may leave." Draco nearly did until he reminded himself of his epiphany.

"If you fail, we all fail, Greengrass. And since the plan is to survive, I do not think that death is something I aspire to. So, please do not be a selfish bitch and lie there like some damn martyr. I am going to wait here until you are ready to go back to the common room and Nott will probably have some book with all the spells needed to fix you up," (at this, her lip twitched), "and we will all carry on like this never happened."

"But it did." Her voice was so small. It was a good minute before he responded.

"But it did," he said and he did not even care if he was just an echo again.

He sat and waited for awhile. Little Greengrass did not seem to stir and when he was beginning to fall asleep (for he was perpetually tired in those days from keeping up appearances), he pulled himself off the cold, stone ground and walked over to check on her.

"Greengrass," he whispered, seeing her eyes were closed and her back slowly rising and falling. She did not wake up and Draco sighed in annoyance before tentatively dipping an arm under her shoulder and behind her knees. She still did not stir and Draco scooped her up, surprised at how light she was. Her head slumped against his chest as he carried her to the Slytherin common room. He gently placed her on the couch he had been resting on before and went to the bathroom to grab some towels. Nott was in there, splashing cool water on his pale face; he looked positively ill.

"Little Greengrass is passed out in the common room," Draco said and Nott looked up.

"Thank _Merlin_," he sighed. "How bad?"

"She seems more tired than anything. She has a few cuts and bruises, but she ought to be fine. She just needs some sleep."

"I will help," Nott nodded, grabbing a few towels. His coloring seemed to return his face and the two boys walked back down to the common room. Nott was gentle and efficient, as if he was use to looking after sick and injured people, peering at Little Greengrass's scraped knees and stitching up the cut behind her ear. "It just made me sick to think it was completely unnecessary," Nott said slowly as they worked. Draco thought it was odd of Nott to voluntarily divulge personal or private information; it was a deliberate action, which made Draco suspicious, but he was still curious and supplied a little encouragement.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, his voice airy and distracted to sound disinterested, even though he was quite the opposite.

"Snape suspected it was Astoria in the dungeons. He and the Carrows had probably meant to interrogate her about her parents together, but the Carrows got to her first—that was why he was checking his watch. The Carrows had their _methods_," Nott explained, the word appearing distasteful to him, "but Snape had his. Did you see what was in his pocket?" Nott asked and Draco shook his head. "I could tell by the outline when he patted his pocket that it was a vial, probably a vial of Veritaserum, which would get the truth out of Astoria easily. That is why it was quiet after Snape went into the dungeons—he used the Veritaserum to find out what he wanted instead of the Cruciatus. All that torture—it was completely unnecessary, pointless, and senseless. And that thought made me _sick_." Draco marveled for a moment how bloody clever Nott was for putting together the puzzle so neatly and logically; it made him a little jealous that Nott could be so perceptive and wary of what else he had seen but never voiced...

"I understand now," Draco said slowly, "that we still need her, but Nott, you cannot expect us to throw everything away for this girl. I do not care if you are bloody in love with her—"

"_In love_ with her?" Nott asked incredulously, genuine surprise appearing on his face. "Merlin, is _that_ what you think?"

"Well, that is what I assumed…"

"Astoria would definitely be mocking you if she was awake," Nott grinned. " 'Assuming makes you an ass, Malfoy,'" he said in a high pitched voice to sound like Little Greengrass. Draco curled his upper lip in annoyance. "And I am definitely _not_ in love with her."

"But you care for her."

"I do," Nott said carefully. "She… my mum's family was a Greengrass three generations back, I believe. I… well, Astoria resembles a younger version of my mum. And she is gone, so…" Draco gave a nod as if to say that he understood and that Nott did not have to continue. Nott was protecting Little Greengrass because he was not able to save his mother. It was odd to see the normally impassive, neutral Nott to be so feeling. "So, from now on, things are to be different. Obviously we cannot be seen with Astoria in public, but she is still one of us. We will just have to be a little more covert. In private, there are no sides and there are no Houses—it is just _us_. We are loyal to each other, not to an ideal, not to a figurehead, but to each other. Anything to survive the year. We must be resourceful. We will need each other to do it."

"Inspiring, Theo," a small voice said. Little Greengrass had blearily opened her eyes.

"How long have you been awake?" Nott crouched down to the couch, his eyes twinkling.

"I just heard your little proclamation of… loyalty," she yawned, her green eyes fluttering open and closed. A flicker of relief flashed across Nott's face that she had only heard that much.

"How are you feeling?" Nott asked. Little Greengrass opened and shut her mouth a few times, but at last was not able to find the words and simply shook her head, tears threatening to spill out of the corner of her eyes.

"I hate them—the Carrows. I fucking _hate_ them." Her voice was a gravely whisper, but her words dripped with venom. She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. "She actually tried to …" Little Greengrass rubbed her left arm warily. "I have to continue with my 'lessons' to prove my _loyalty_," she sneered, wiping the tear away. The sneer soon disappeared and a look of cool determination replaced it. "Anything to survive the year." She gently touched the spot behind her ear that was cut and then looked at Draco with her piercing green eyes. It was an unnerving gaze, as if she had finally figured out how she made it into the common room. Quickly, she turned away and asked for her sister. Draco volunteered to get her, eager to get away from the pathetic sight of the younger Greengrass, and shoved awake Blaise, who nudged Daphne. The blonde practically flew out of the room and nearly threw herself on her sister with tears of elation and relief.

"The plans have changed," Draco said to Blaise and he seemed unsurprised.

"The Little Greengrass Brat is one of us," Blaise said. "_Of course_ plans are going to change."

Nott placed a Cheering Charm on Little Greengrass to give her enough energy to be helped up to her room by her sister. Minutes later, the Slytherins seemed to cautiously emerge from their rooms to head to dinner. The boys sat on the couch in the common room, exhausted by the day's events. Ten minutes passed and Daphne emerged from the girls' dormitories.

"She is asleep," Daphne said, wringing her hands. "She will be fine. Astoria will always be fine, that's why my parents… that is why she is the heir of the Greengrass fortune and estate. It was decided in early October." Draco remembered the mysterious outburst between the two sisters and realized Daphne was referring to that. "So, if you plan on benefiting from that, you all had better step it up," Daphne crossed her arms. "I am not stupid when it comes to relationships between people. You, Theo," she pointed accusingly, "are keeping an eye on her. And you—Draco, Blaise—begrudgingly respect her." It was then when her friendly eyes narrowed and became quite threatening. "So, whatever it is you are doing, you need to do it better, otherwise, you will have two Greengrasses to deal with and I _promise_ that it will not be a pretty sight." Her spiteful gaze turned cheery. "But in the meanwhile, we ought to head down to dinner and keep up appearances." With that, the blonde flounced from the room as if she had been told she was getting a puppy for Christmas.

"Forget looking out for the quiet ones," Blaise muttered. "It's always the pretty ones you have to watch out for. Daphne Greengrass—who would have thought that she could make a decent threat? Bloody Greengrass girls… our own personal hell."

Draco and Nott just smirked.


	5. Chapter 5: Holiday Hellhole, Part 1

_Author's Note: This chapter grew to be much longer than what I expected it to be, so it will be posted in two chapters. I am quite merrily trying to outline the rest of this story so I don't get carried away with it and end up writing it for the rest of my life. I am going to insist on finishing it before I leave for Barcelona (!) mid-August, so I have a number of months ahead of me. Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed! I try to respond to all of my reviews, so don't be afraid to leave criticism, comments, or if you find any typos, point them out to me (because they are there, hiding). Thanks again and enjoy!_

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* * *

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ON THE OTHER SIDE

_Chapter 5: Holiday Hellhole, Part 1 of 2_

She did not even wake up until noon the next day. The Slytherin House was quiet, with everyone at lunch or in class. Astoria slowly pulled herself upright, surprised by how stiff all her muscles still were. Her head spun and throbbed and her stomach threatened to upend itself, but most of the nausea passed after a few seconds. She rose from her bed, grabbed a clean pair of clothes, and went to go take a shower.

Astoria looked into a mirror to survey the damage. Her neck still had flecks of blood from the cut behind her ear. Theo, she believed, had stitched it up quite nicely. Pealing her fringe off of her forehead, Astoria saw where her brow had a nice little meet-and-greet with the stone floor after being flicked aside by the Carrows like a piece of lint. That, combined with the blow behind her ear, had blessed her with a roaring headache.

She frowned and fiddled with her fringe, which had the tendency to stick up haphazardly. It was the bane of her existence when she was younger and wanted to be perfect like Daphne. Her fringe actually suited her needs better when down; she normally pinned back the strands of brown hair to stay out of her eyes, but when let down, they covered the scrape and made her seem even more ordinary. She was not sure if 'ordinary,' 'plain,' 'nonexistent,' 'unremarkable,' or 'invisible' could be achieved now, but it was worth a try. As if she wanted to deal with the gossip-mongers of Hogwarts _anyway_. Honestly, had they nothing better to do with their meager existences?

Her hands, elbows, and knees had scabbed over from being thrown across the stone floor and she had a few bruises on her arms and legs too. Upon opening up her shirt, she saw a half dozen vibrant, Galleon sized bruises that mottled the pale skin on her chest and stomach. She gently pressed the purple skin, wincing at the slightest contact. It was where each of the Cruciatus Curses hit her.

It was then when she remembered that Malfoy carried her back to the common room; she vaguely recalled him scooping her up and her head falling against his chest, too weak to fight sleep. This irrevocably meant that she was indebted to Draco Bloody Malfoy. The thought made her rush to the toilet and empty her stomach. And even though she felt physically better afterward, things were hardly better because _she fucking owed Malfoy_. The last thing she wanted was to owe The Great Git _anything_. She wiped her mouth, flushed the toilet, and walked back to the mirror. He had seen her vulnerable; he had seen her scared for her life; he had seen her fucking _cry—_it was a _disaster_.

Sneering at the pale, worn girl in the mirror, Astoria started a hot shower, shed the rest of her clothes, and climbed in, content to let the water wash away the blood. It was unfortunate that the water could do nothing to ease the terrible memory of being under the Cruciatus. She wanted the Carrows to _pay_, especially Alecto. The woman was atrocious and repugnant as they came and Astoria was loath to continue classes and lessons with her. How would she be able to effectively cast the Cruciatus anymore, now that she knew exactly how it felt? Theo would probably advise that she would need to be unfeeling; it was a Pureblood and Slytherin art form to maintain that cold and apathetic façade. Surprisingly, Daphne was the best actor of the family; it was only with her sister that she could be deep and passionate, but otherwise, she was always good at forcing a sweet smile. Astoria was simply inept with emotions.

The shower was heavenly and she was about to go back to bed, not caring if her hair was still wet and would never lie straight when Daphne came in, bearing a mug of tea and a sandwich.

"I nicked it from the Great Hall. I figured you would be hungry and then I saw your bed empty and your clothes in the shower, so I thought some tea would be nice," Daphne smiled.

"You are the best, Daph," Astoria sighed, gingerly taking the cup of tea.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Astoria murmured. "I am still tired. I was thinking about going back to bed until dinner…" Daphne's eyebrows knitted together and her green eyes became sad and glassy as she fixed a strand of Astoria's wet hair. "Daph, please do not look at me like that," Astoria begged, feeling guilty how undone and pathetic her older sister look.

"We could hear you scream, Tori," she responded, a tear falling down her cheek. "I could hear you all the way in the boys' room and Theo was literally sick to his stomach and Blaise looked so terribly guilty and Draco… he went and got you, Tori. Draco _saved_ you."

"Malfoy did not save me," Astoria snorted. "Snape did. Look, Daph, we are going to be fine, but things have only just begun. We must be strong. Remember what Da said: we are Greengrasses and we are as infinite as the rolling green hills on our estate, as powerful as—"

"That would be something Father would say," Daphne said fondly, "but it is simply too long for anyone but you to bother remembering." Astoria shrugged. "We ought to just say, 'We are Greengrasses and we are the shit' and leave it at that."

"I must admit, it is rather concise and still very precise," Astoria mused.

"And thus, the blonde startles everyone with her brilliance," Daphne grinned. "I…" Daphne's smiled faded. "I just don't want you to have to bear everything, Tori. You don't have to do everything on your own." Astoria looked down at her tea, not sure if it was possible.

"Alright," she said to please her sister.

"Good. Now eat your sandwich and get some more rest."

"Shit, I need to pick up my homework, I missed an _entire_ day of classes!"

"_Tori_, for Merlin's sake, you can deal with that later. _Priorities!_ Go back to sleep. You still look exhausted," she scrutinized her. "You need to trim your fringe—it's too long, nearly in your eyes."

"All the better, Daph," Astoria muttered before biting off a hunk of her sandwich. Daphne gave her a worried look before planting a kiss on her little sister's forehead and leaving the room. She only managed to eat half of her sandwich before she grew too tired and slipped back under the covers. Within minutes she was asleep.

* * *

Little Greengrass showed up for dinner, but no one seemed to notice the girl. Her hair fell into her eyes and she slipped into an empty seat, barely touched her food, and then followed a large crowd out of the Great Hall. She still looked tired, her face worn and pinched. It amazed him that a girl of so much pride (or so he speculated) could keep her head down for such a long time. Then again, they were all doing their part.

They could not talk to her at all in public—before, a few words out of general benevolence was permissible, but now she was to be exiled and purposefully excluded. Nott would sometimes slip her books to read in the weeks before Christmas and she would hide behind those yellowed pages in the common room, blending into the room and being so forgotten that people talked as if she was not there. When it was just her, him, Nott, and Blaise in the room, she would relay anything useful she had heard. They were her only companions, if one could even call them that. She was shunned by all Slytherins and labeled as much of a traitor as her parents, yet the rest of the school still feared her, especially after she tripped her Hufflepuff Dark Arts partner when he started growing too nosy. Draco thought it was a great laugh.

The bloke—Summerby was his name—had followed her out of class, quietly attempting to pry information from her. Little Greengrass had him relatively well-trained, because at least he was not boisterously loud; she had made it very clear that the bloke was a complete embarrassment to be consorting with (nay, to be sitting next to) and she had obviously desired to end the conversation. Little Greengrass had said a few scathing words over her shoulder, flicked her wand, and the bloke went sprawling on the ground. She had not even spared a look back at him and the Slytherins all snickered in pure delight.

Little Greengrass was full of surprises. She had the usual Pureblood elegance indoctrinated in her from etiquette lessons and private tutors. Her posture was perfect except for her head constantly dipped low, but when she looked up and met someone square in the eye, she was (as Daphne put it) a right terror. She was obviously intelligent and endowed with a bright vocabulary, her head like a thesaurus filled with multisyllabic words and colorful curses. The latter was hardly considered lady-like, but Little Greengrass was hardly a lady, never playing the coy, flirty games her roommates played. She made up for it with her cunning and bluntness, but apparently was a softie when it came to any non-human creature. This is what Daphne said, anyway, who seemed to adore talking about her little sister now that her companions acknowledged her existence.

However, Little Greenrass was still a brat. She was meddlesome, snide, and irksome, and always quick to make some remark that made him want to hex her, his good breeding be damned. Nott seemed to think the sun shone out of her flat ass and Blaise reluctantly employed the occasional charm in hopes of gaining Daphne's forgiveness through her younger sister. The Little Greengrass Brat liked Nott—or _Theo_ as she called him—the best of the trio of boys, but she was smart enough to be extremely wary of Nott; in contrast, she found Blaise to be simply an annoying little bugger and she found Draco—and told him with a rather bored expression on her face—to be too elusive to intrigue her the slightest, which was not a compliment considering how nosy she was. Draco informed her that he never asked for her opinion and cared not what a tedious, tiny fifth year thought of him, to which she responded with a smirk.

She could be rather funny occasionally. She had a dry wit that always bounded a few steps ahead of them; however, this was Slytherin humor, always enjoying the clever, ironic, and morbid.

Little Greengrass had been reading a book that Nott loaned her when Blaise sauntered in the room and felt the need to make some comment because he had an opinion on bloody _everything_.

"Congratulations, Greengrass," he grinned, flopping down on one of the couches. She was silent, pointedly not bothering to respond to him, knowing that he would only talk to her so publically to try to humiliate or mock her. "Come on, humor me, Greengrass."

"That is the job of the giggling gaggle of girls giving you gooey eyes in the corner, not I," she quipped, never tearing her eyes off the page. Draco silently admired her alliteration.

"Fine," Blaise huffed before sending a blinding smile to aforementioned girls. "I was simply going to congratulate you in finding some more moderate reading. The other books you have been devouring of late are more like tomes."

"Your point?"

"It's so little," he snatched the book out of her hands. She looked ready to hex him before she adopted a bored, exasperated expression.

"Zabini, must _every_ conversation relate to your dick?" she retorted. Blaise's jaw nearly hit the ground in shock and she easily swiped back her book and triumphantly retreated up the stairs to the girls' side of the dormitory. Draco had nearly choked on the tea he was drinking and Nott let out a barking laugh. Blaise was so taken aback that they had to coax him to sit down. It was minutes before he could speak.

"I cannot believe she just _insulted_ the family jewels," he said with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I am sure Daphne can put in a good word for you," Draco drawled and Blaise looked near to killing him.

Such was life with the Little Greengrass Brat: an inescapable shadow always lurking on one's heels. In the three weeks before holiday break, it became rather clear that Little Greengrass was hardly little anymore (in the sense of being immature), but she was tinier than ever. She had two supplementary lessons that she handled unfeelingly all while keeping a wary eye on her sister, but she was rapidly loosing weight. The worry was eating into her more than she was eating food and she seemed to try feeding the thestrals more than she was feeding herself. Draco saw her most of the time in the hallways, her tiny frame being bumped around as she tried to wade through the crowd, her head tucked down, her hair in her eyes, and her arms clutching a book to her chest. The only time there seemed to be any sort of liveliness about her was when she was with her older sister or while talking with the trio of seventh year Slytherin boys.

She, Blaise, Nott, and Draco sat by the fireplace one particularly cold afternoon. It had finally snowed and Hogwarts looked beautiful on the outside, yet the interior was more treacherous than ever.

"I just want to get out of here," Blaise sighed. "I'm absolutely ready for it to be Christmas."

"Why?" Little Greengrass asked, her gazed fixed on the flames. "Christmas will not be the same. Christmas will not be Christmas."

Little Greengrass' prediction was right: it was more like a holiday hellhole.

* * *

"Daphne, you do not understand."

"What? It's _Christmas_, Tori. I know Mum and Father will not be there, but that does not mean that we cannot enjoy ourselves. There will still be parties and celebrations and—"

"That is the thing, Daph: even if there are parties—which I highly doubt there will be, considering that everyone is rather _preoccupied_ at the moment—we will not be invited. Daphne, we are no better than the Weasleys at this point. We are _blood traitors_."

"Tori, that's not—"

"Have you felt unduly neglected this past week? Have people been talking to you less?" Astoria retorted and Daphne's smile faltered.

"Perhaps a little…"

"It is because we are now social lepers. Consorting with us will undoubtedly reflect poorly on any respectable Pureblood's reputation," Astoria snapped. "We are going to be on our own. There will be no parties. There will be no dress robes. There will be no expensive feasts," Astoria listed on her fingertips as tears grew in Daphne's eyes. "Instead, we will have an empty house. It is just _us_, Daph."

"I can ask Pansy if we can stay at her house for the holidays!" Daphne brightened up, tears immediately gone at this sudden epiphany. "Oh, won't it be wonderful? Pansy is such a good friend. _She_ will not care about our situation…" That was what Daphne had taken to calling it: their 'situation.' Ever the pessimist, Astoria thought the word was too ephemeral to truly encompass what Calliope and Thomas Greengrass had left their daughters in.

"I doubt it."

"That it won't be fun? I know Pansy isn't your favorite person, but—"

"No, Daph, I doubt her parents will allow our presence in their house."

Daphne protested vehemently for five minutes before declaring that she was going to ask Parkinson right then and she returned triumphantly to declare that her roommate was going to write to her parents and ask them. A few days later, Astoria was the victor when Parkinson rather unrepentantly apologized, saying that they would be unable to house them for the term break. She used the excuse of having 'previously engaged company,' but Astoria was quite sure that it was a giant load of troll shit. Even Daphne seemed rather hurt, although she was loath to admit it to her sister; Astoria did her a favor and did not gloat.

"There is another option," Astoria mentioned one night, causing Daphne to look at her expectantly. "Uncle Alastair."

"_Uncle Alastair?_ Tori, _please_ tell me you are joking."

"If anyone will be willing to defy the general opinion of our family, it would be him," Astoria defended the man.

"That is because he is no longer part of the family! He took his inheritance and went off with that… that _man_."

"He is my godfather, Daph. He is the only wizard in our family who cares less what Pureblood society thinks. He has nothing to lose by staying with us."

"And will you invite his partner, too?"

"Yes, it would be polite to invite Victor. He is pleasant enough and I recall that you rather enjoyed his company."

"I do remember he was very well dressed… perhaps charming and amicable in his own way," Daphne relented. "You really think Uncle Alastair will come, though? After years of complete exile, you honestly expect him to forget it all and stay with us for the holidays?"

"It is better to ask than have an empty house. He maybe be the only family we will have for awhile, Daph," Astoria said wistfully, causing Daphne to sigh.

"Alright," she relented. "You dictate and I will write—you are best with all that formal what's-it, but my handwriting is the prettiest."

"Jargon, my dear sister, not 'what's-it.'"

"Whatever."

"And there is nothing wrong with my handwriting. It is neat, concise print whereas yours is—"

"Pretty, flourishing, and Mummy always thought it was much more feminine than yours." They paused for a moment, thinking of their mother. "Tell me what to write."

"_Mister Alastair Greengrass and Mister Victor Noveum— you are cordially invited to pass the holiday season at the Greengrass Estate from Saturday, December 20__th__ to Sunday, January 4__th__. Please arrive at King's Cross Station in London at Platform 9 and ¾ for the 5 o'clock arrival of the Hogwarts Express. From there, Apparition will be used to arrive at the Greengrass Estate outside of Windermere in the Lake District. Please respond if you will be able to attend. With regards, the Greengrass Family,_" Astoria recited.

"I'm not going to sign with 'the Greengrass Family.' It is a bit misleading," Daphne disagreed. "I'm going to write our names."

"Very well," Astoria sighed. "You may send it off."

"Tori, don't you think it's a little too… formal?"

"It is an invitation, Daph, it is supposed to be formal."

"Maybe the word I'm looking for is 'vague.'"

"Why? All necessary details are there," Astoria protested.

"Alright, I'll say it: it sounds cold, Tori. It certainly gives Uncle Alastair no incentive to visit us. Do you think he knows about our situation?"

"Every Pureblood has learned how our parents have fled the country, Daphne, do not be naïve," Astoria snapped, quickly tiring of the conversation.

"Hey," Daphne growled back, "it was just a question. There's no need to get on your high hippogriff and act like someone stuck a wand up your rear end." Astoria did not feel like apologizing. "I'm going to add a little message on the back," Daphne picked up her quill.

"Will it detail our sob story? Perhaps you ought to title it 'The Tragic Downfall of the Greengrass Family and the Consequent Abandonment of the Greengrass Girls,'" Astoria sneered.

"You are being such a _pessimistic brat_," Daphne snapped at her. "What has gotten into you?"

"I am tired, that is all," Astoria lied. The truth was that she had lessons with the Carrows that evening and was not looking forward to it in the slightest.

"Then go to bed!" Daphne advised exasperatedly before turning back to the letter. "I will just explain that in light of our situation, we will be spending the holidays alone and would really enjoy from familial company."

"Nicely put," Astoria said, careful to not leave the slightest amount of sarcasm in her voice. Daphne smiled her thanks and shooed her sister away.

A few days later, they received a very concise message saying that their uncle and his partner would be pleased to join them for the holiday season and that they would meet them at Platform 9 and ¾.

* * *

Draco sat on the Hogwarts Express, not even bothering to feign interest in the conversation and feeling a little claustrophobic in the cramped cabin with all the seventh year Slytherins. At last, he stood up and exited the cabin, saying he was going to take a stroll and mock some Gryffindors.

He was not excited about Christmas and rather felt that the journey on the Hogwarts Express was analogous to being transferred from one prison to another. There was hardly any semblance of freedom at either location, and at this point, Draco preferred to be at Hogwarts than the Malfoy Manor. However, he was worried about his parents, especially his father, who had only been out of Azkaban for a handful of months and whose wand was destroyed when borrowed by the Dark Lord. He had not received a replacement and seemed to have lost his power, influence, and reputation with it. The Malfoy name had rapidly declined in a few months; they were now the laughing stock of the Death Eater community and were openly mocked in their own home.

Draco never got around to harassing the Gryffindors. He did not feel like searching for trouble (that was something Stupid Scarhead Potter would do, not wizarding aristocracy like himself) and he was not in the mood for coming up with clever insults. Instead, he saw Little Greengrass curled up in a corner of the train, eyes skimming over a book and a vacant seat next to her. He paused, considering if sitting next to Greengrass was his most tolerable option.

"Malfoy," she greeted him without any fondness, paying more attention to her book than Draco's frozen frame in the corner of her eye.

"Greengrass," Draco responded. There was an awkward pause and he could see Little Greengrass' eyes reread the same sentence. "May I join you?" he asked, his voice stiffly polite.

"You may," she responded in the same tone. Draco sat down next to her and unbuttoned his coat. He waited a few seconds, knowing that she was probably dying of curiosity and would inevitably ask a number of meddlesome questions.

"Was the cabin too crowded with your Housemates?"

"Yes. Could you not manage to make any friends with your Housemates?" he jabbed.

"Your Christmas spirit is overwhelming," she said in a deadpan tone. Draco snorted. "Have you come to mock my social incompetency or do you have some ulterior motive by joining me?" she inquired, her green eyes flicking off the page but a moment to eye him.

"I grew bored of the idle chatter," Draco explained, picking an invisible piece of lint off his dark robes. "And while your meddlesome questions are irksome, at least you refrain from opening your gob when only insipid small talk may be offered."

"_That_ was a loaded compliment," she raised her eyebrows in bemusement. There was a beat of silence. "If you are waiting for some exclamation of gratitude, you might as well hold your breath. Hmm, perhaps that way you will drop dead," she pondered aloud.

"And your tears may water the grass over my grave," Draco quickly quipped, causing Little Greengrass to snap her book shut and glare at him.

"The soil will be too acrid with your remains to sustain any form of vegetation," she snappily retorted. "And for some one who abhors 'idle chatter,' you seem rather competent in stimulating it."

"Here I was, thinking we were having a battle of wits," he said with fake sorrow.

"That would require having your wits about you," she dryly rejoined.

"That would require you to be wit."

"No, that would require a little more wittiness on your part. Although I thought it was always 'better a witty fool than a foolish wit,'" she seemed to quote from some unknown source. "I shall not wonder what category you would fall under, lest it hurt your abominable pride."

"I am so pleased that you had finally learned tact after fifteen years."

"I am more pleased that you have not after seventeen years."

"You are such a brat," Draco huffed, remembering how damn annoying she could be.

"Ooh, that was a clever one, Malfoy," she said sarcastically.

"Do us all a favor and go back to reading your bloody book, Greengrass."

"The pleasure is all mine, Malfoy," she smirked and they sat in silence for a good half-hour until suddenly Draco felt something hit his shoulder. He looked down and saw the top of Little Greengrass' head and her book limp in her lap.

"Bugger," he muttered. He tried getting her off him by nudging her, shifting her weight, calling her surname, everything. He had never felt more awkward than having the little fifth year asleep on his shoulder. She really was a tiny little thing. At last, he resigned himself to the fact that she would wake up eventually and he could be relinquished from her annoying presence. At least the look on her face when she woke up and discovered what happened would be priceless.

* * *

She heard someone snap in her ear and her eyes flew open to see her sister smiling and one very irritated Draco Malfoy.

"You fell asleep and Draco was too scared—"

"—I was not scared!"

"—to wake you up and you sleep like a log, so he was completely stuck until I came along. See, Draco, I told you the only way to wake her up was to snap right next to her ear!" Daphne grinned.

She had fallen asleep on The Great Git's shoulder. What a ruddy nightmare!

"Ha ha, Tori's blushing," Daphne laughed and this hardly helped things, Astoria growing even more mortified. Malfoy looked at her glowing face, which only made it worse.

"Merlin," Malfoy muttered with a satisfied smirk, finally leaving as Astoria buried her face in a book.

"We are about a half hour outside of King's Cross," Daphne said, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"So kind to grace me with your presence," Astoria muttered, angry at her sister for making her blush in front of Draco Bloody Malfoy.

"I thought you would like the company," Daphne said, slightly miffed. "Why don't you go sit with Lindsay, Annie, and Mel?" her sister inquired, naming the other three Slytherin fifth year girls.

"Because they are stupid," Astoria said, knowing that a more eloquent word would not encompass their stupidity quite as well as the simple word 'stupid.'

"Tori, that's so mean!" her sister admonished her.

"It is true," Astoria huffed, opening her book.

"Do you have _any_ friends, Tori?" Daphne asked with wide eyes. Astoria thought about it for a moment. She rarely spoke to her roommates. She only spoke to her classmates about school if forced to. Summerby tried to be her friend, but she found him to be a liability. Luna Lovegood sometimes talked to her when she was with the thestrals, but Astoria simply listened to Luna's ramblings rather than responding. Fiona Davis was more of a study partner rather than a friend, even though Astoria respected her. Then there were the Slytherin boys: Theo, at least, she called by his first name and she enjoyed his personality and mind, but was wary of his plans; Zabini had finally attempted a little charm around her and she occasionally enjoyed his crass sense of humor, even if he was blasé; and Malfoy was too enigmatic for her to find him interesting and she trusted him least of the trio of Slytherin boys.

"No," Astoria finally responded. Daphne looked down, a little ashamed for her younger sister.

"That's alright, you have me," Daphne slung an arm around her sister's shoulder and Astoria was suddenly really excited to be going home.

* * *

They took Loony Lovegood at the platform. Her eccentric father had been printing material in support of Pottyhead and so really, he had it coming. After all, Loony was an easy target, gently assuring her panicking father that she would be just fine and reminding him to take care of the Snarglepuff and that the Dirigibal plums would be ripe in a week. The Death Eaters failed to frighten the strange Ravenclaw, but her father was lying on the platform, crying like an infant whose lollipop had been taken away from him. The Old Coot's Army was protesting as well, but there was nothing they could do. In an instant, they had Apparated away.

Draco looked across the platform to see how Little Greengrass reacted; he had seen Loony talking to Little Greengrass as she coaxed thestrals toward her. It took him awhile to find the Greengrass sisters. They had bundled up in nondescript black robes, wrapped green scarves around their necks, and wore dark sunglasses to hide their trademark celery-colored Greengrass eyes. Little Greengrass seemed to be looking in the direction of the scene, but she showed no emotion; if she did, her tinted glasses covered it.

The blonde and the brunette made their way over to two men. Daphne gave them each a hug and Little Greengrass offered them very formal handshakes. Seeing a few Death Eaters begin to walk their way, the older man—who looked as though he could pass at Little Greengrass' father—quickly pulled the two girls in by one arm, grabbed the shoulder of the man next to him, and Disapparated. Draco wondered if they would be safe at the Greengrass Estate.

The platform began emptying out and Draco realized that his mother and father were not coming to see him home. He waited another ten minutes and Draco Disapparated, the gate of the Malfoy Manor appearing in front of him. He sighed and passed through the iron barricade. He saw the peacock with its head drooped, slowly walking through the garden, losing a feather every few steps.

_There is no place like home_, was his sneering thought before he opened the front door.

* * *

Astoria was mad they had taken Luna Lovegood for her father's mistakes. She was tired of children suffering for the errors their parents had made.

At least Uncle Alastair and Victor had showed up and seemed to recognize the blonde and brunette girls walking across the platform. Astoria had anticipated trouble at King's Cross Station and had suggested dark sunglasses to hide their eyes. Daphne thought it was rather glamorous and had agreed that it was a good plan.

She had not seen Uncle Alastair since she was five or six years old and was happy that he had not changed. He was still tall and lanky, his dark brown hair neatly combed to the side and a cigar sticking out of his mouth; he wore a handsome black coat, a fedora tilted down to cover one of his celery green eyes, and an expression of vigilance and yet, an unmistakable Pureblood grace. Victor was smiling, standing so his shoulder was just brushing Alastair's and obviously restraining himself from calling out to the girls and beckoning them over. Astoria felt her heart was about to burst, but hardly knew what to do.

They walked over to the two men with their trunks and Daphne, ever the social butterfly and always affectionate, gave them both hugs while Astoria settled with a handshake. Words seemed to be stuck in her mouth; she was so grateful that they had come and she had missed her godfather, who always read books to her and answered all of her numerous questions. A few pleasantries were exchanged and Astoria looked around the platform, surprised to see Malfoy standing alone and appearing to be waiting for his parents. Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria saw something else slightly worrisome. Two Death Eaters seemed to surreptitiously make their way toward Astoria, Daphne, Alastair, and Victor.

"Daph, grab your trunk," Astoria ordered.

"Why? It's heavy," Daphne protested and Alastair Greengrass caught sight of whom his goddaughter was warily watching. The two Death Eaters quickened their pace and Alastair whispered to brace themselves, and suddenly, they were standing on a hill top, looking at the Greengrass Estate. "What do you think those men wanted?" Daphne asked, steadying herself. Astoria did not respond, not wanting to ponder the possibilities.

"Shall we?" she gestured toward the house and everyone seemed to nod in assent, happy to seek refuge after the close call.

The Greengrass Estate was constructed of cool, grey stones on the exterior, but the interior was entirely wood. The house was smaller than most Pureblood families, but they had extensive land to make up for it. The house itself was not gaudy, but decorated modestly with family heirlooms and portraits; painted on one wall was a herd of galloping winged horses, which the family used to breed a few generations back. Her favorite part of the house, though, was her father's study. There was a desk, a fireplace, a window with a view of the ever-green Lake District, and the walls were lined with books; it smelled like scotch, sweet cigar smoke, and the yellowing pages of old books.

Her Uncle Alastair seemed to pause in the entryway; it had been almost eleven years since he had set foot in the house. Victor stood at his side tentatively, gazing at his reaction. Alastair had always been an enigmatic man, with the innate Slytherin ability to hide one's emotions and the Pureblood teachings that it was weak to be caught off guard. He fiddled with the brim of his hat for a moment before finally taking it off and setting it on a hat rack. Just then, there was a little squeal from behind one of the leather couches.

"Is that Master Alastair?" said the voice, two large eyes peering over the couch. "Has he come home at last?"

"Hello, Dop," the man said to the House Elf, a smile tucked away in the corner of his mouth. Dop the House Elf quickly scurried out of his hiding spot and bowed every step he made toward Alastair.

"Dop is so pleased that Master Alastair is home! Dop has greatly missed Master Alastair's presence. Dop _knew_ that Master Alastair would one day return and always made sure to keep his room prepared should he arrive!" the House Elf insisted with a high squeak of excitement.

"Thank you, Dop. That is kind of you." Dop looked about ready to burst into tears.

"I suddenly feel the need to vie for your affections," Victor mused with a laughing smile.

"Dop tried smashing his head with Mistress' good cast iron pan when Master Alastair left, but Master Thomas stopped Dop and said that Master Alastair would be very displeased if Dop hurt himself on Master Alastair's account," the House Elf continued to prattle on.

"Master Thomas was correct," Alastair said. Astoria saw a glimmer of nostalgia flash across her uncle's eyes. "Do you earn wages now, Dop?" The House Elf instantly began to sob.

"Dop would never disgrace the Greengrass family by asking such when the Greengrass family has been so kind to Dop!" he wailed, eyes leaking a torrent of tears in contrast to his little body. "Never,_ ever!_" Alastair looked peeved.

"I am so pleased that things have not changed," the man muttered sardonically. Astoria had not managed to say more than a handful of words to her uncle, but suddenly felt the need to defend her family.

"You forget whose house you are in, Uncle," Astoria said coldly. "Perhaps you have been informed of the changes of the last will and testimony of your brother and his wife. Everything goes to _me_."

"They are not dead, niece," her uncle said carefully, eyeing up his goddaughter.

"Yet," was Astoria's quick rebuttal. All looked at her in shock. "Daphne, would you kindly show our guests to their rooms? Undoubtedly, they must be exhausted after a long day." Daphne nodded, flashed Alastair and Victor a winning smile, and gestured toward the stairs.

"I ought to correct myself," Alastair said, adjusting his tie. "Some things have not changed. Others have, and who am I to judge, considering my connections to this family, if it is for better or for worse?"

"Alastair, have you _seen_ the tapestry up here?" Victor exclaimed in amazement, his voice floating down from the second floor.

"Of course I have," Alastair muttered, turning away from his niece and heading toward the stairs. "This was only my home for over twenty years of my life."

Once alone, Astoria settled down on the couch and tried to force back the tears that sprung up after realizing that the familiar smell of cigar smoke did not indicate that her father was home and that the gentle humming of gay voices up the stairs did not mean that her mother was giving guests a tour of the estate.

Perhaps Alastair was right: some things had not changed. But most, Astoria realized, had changed. And she was more than qualified to pass judgment: things were bad, very bad indeed.


	6. Chapter 5: Holiday Hellhole, Part 2

_Author's Note: This story keeps on getting more and more exciting to write. Sometimes I give myself the chills. Okay, so I'm a dork, but it's not like that is new information to the world. I already have the next chapter finished, but I always like to let it marinade for a week before I repeatedly pick through it. And yet, I know there still are typos. So frustrating! Anyway, thanks to everyone who has been reviewing! I'm really excited to be joining the Draco/Astoria shippers- we are a lovely group, I think._

_Before we go on, let's remind ourselves what happened in part one..._

_

* * *

_

_In Part 1 of Chapter 5: Holiday Hellhole..._

It was then when Astoria remembered that Malfoy carried her back to the common room; she vaguely recalled him scooping her up and her head falling against his chest, too weak to fight sleep. This irrevocably meant that she was indebted to Draco Bloody Malfoy. The thought made her rush to the toilet and empty her stomach. And even though she felt physically better afterward, things were hardly better because _she fucking owed Malfoy_. The last thing she wanted was to owe The Great Git _anything_. She wiped her mouth, flushed the toilet, and walked back to the mirror. He had seen her vulnerable; he had seen her scared for her life; he had seen her fucking _cry—_it was a _disaster_.

...

"It's so little," he snatched the book out of her hands. She looked ready to hex him before she adopted a bored, exasperated expression.

"Zabini, must _every_ conversation relate to your dick?" she retorted. Blaise's jaw nearly hit the ground in shock and she easily swiped back her book and triumphantly retreated up the stairs to the girls' side of the dormitory. Draco had nearly choked on the tea he was drinking and Nott let out a barking laugh. Blaise was so taken aback that they had to coax him to sit down. It was minutes before he could speak.

"I cannot believe she just _insulted_ the family jewels," he said with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I am sure Daphne can put in a good word for you," Draco drawled and Blaise looked near to killing him.

...

"There is another option," Astoria mentioned one night, causing Daphne to look at her expectantly. "Uncle Alastair."

...

"I am so pleased that you had finally learned tact after fifteen years."

"I am more pleased that you have not after seventeen years."

"You are such a brat," Draco huffed, remembering how damn annoying she could be.

"Ooh, that was a clever one, Malfoy," she said sarcastically.

...

She had fallen asleep on The Great Git's shoulder. What a ruddy nightmare!

"Ha ha, Tori's blushing," Daphne laughed and this hardly helped things, Astoria growing even more mortified. Malfoy looked at her glowing face, which only made it worse.

"Merlin," Malfoy muttered with a satisfied smirk, finally leaving as Astoria buried her face in a book.

...

Once alone, Astoria settled down on the couch and tried to force back the tears that sprung up after realizing that the familiar smell of cigar smoke did not indicate that her father was home and that the gentle humming of gay voices up the stairs did not mean that her mother was giving guests a tour of the estate.

Perhaps Alastair was right: some things had not changed. But most, Astoria realized, had changed. And she was more than qualified to pass judgment: things were bad, very bad indeed.

**

* * *

**

ON THE OTHER SIDE

_Chapter 5: Holiday Hellhole, Part 2 of 2_

"Do you think… do you think I should, uh, you know… get her something?" It was the most incoherent, flustered, and humble sentence Draco had ever heard uttered by Blaise Zabini. The Zabini family had come to the Manor under the pretense of some meeting and with Blaise's arrogant smirk and a flash of his Mark, and his mother's infamous beauty, they passed through the gates and were able to socialize without much suspicion.

"Ooh, is my darling nephew having a play date?" cooed his dear Autie Bellatrix.

"Mrs. Lestrange, always a pleasure," Blaise winked. Bellatrix cackled gleefully and the two boys walked out of the house and into the garden. The town of Wiltshire only received snow about one or two weeks every year, but it had snowed just that morning, blessing the young men with the fleeting serenity of a peaceful, white garden. It was still a little bleak outside, but it was far better than being indoors.

Most of the time they simply walked in silence with their hands shoved in their robe pockets, each lost in their own contemplations. Whenever Blaise thought of something that struck his fancy, he would voice that thought and a short dialogue would continue until they once again fell into silence; Blaise almost always led their conversations, usually unable to keep his mouth shut for long with people who he deemed his equals. Eventually, their conversation (or Blaise's musings—they were one in the same, really) came to the subject of Christmas gifts. They were bewildered at the hype all the girls would make about giving each other presents.

"Daphne was completely panicking about what to get her sister," Blaise said.

"Just give the brat a book and she will shut up," Draco snorted. There was a silence, and it was then that Blaise asked the unintelligible question. Draco stopped his pacing and looked at Blaise squarely. "Pardon?"

"Do you think I should give her a gift?" Blaise reiterated.

"…_Greengrass?_" Draco asked incredulously.

"Yes," Blaise said carefully.

"You _do_ realize that she thinks you are a prick most of the time?" Draco asked, thinking of the way Little Greengrass would scoff at Blaise's… well, _blasé_ attitude. Something flashed across Blaise's eyes before he questioned back.

"She does?" he asked, seeming a little surprised and perhaps hurt.

"Honestly, Blaise, you made it so that she had to Obliviate her own sister…" Draco muttered in exasperation. Blaise's eyes grew wide in surprise.

"I didn't mean the little one," he sneered. "I meant Daphne."

"Oh."

"_Merlin_, I wouldn't give the Little Greengrass Brat a present!" he snorted. "Why would you think that?"

"Why would you give _any_ of the Greengrasses a present?" Draco retorted coolly. Blaise was silent for a moment before he burst out in bitter laughter.

"You are absolutely right: why would I give any of the Greengrasses a present? They have caused us nothing but trouble—"

"Blaise," Draco said firmly to stop his friend from saying any more. Draco felt constantly watched, even if he was alone. It was hard enough to be keeping up with his Occlumency all the time to prevent Him from delving into his mind. Blaise tossed up his hands as if to say he would not speak any more on the subject and the boys continued their taciturn walk through the garden until Mrs. Zabini called that it was time for them to depart. Draco shook his friend's hand and noticed a pensive look on his face; he figured it was because Blaise did not wish to return to his house, where little entertainment was offered.

"Draco, come inside," his mother softly urged him. "It is quite cold."

"I am still a little restless," Draco said politely. He was always on tip-toes around his mother, knowing that she was doing everything she could to protect the family and that it did little good for him to become frustrated with her nagging. "If it would not be an inconvenience, I wish to pass another ten minutes in the garden."

"Yes, of course dear," Narcissa Malfoy said. She looked so hopeless and frail that Draco went up to her and pressed a kiss to her cold cheek before bounding back to the yard. He looked back at the house and saw his father tentatively place a hand on his mother's shoulder; she reached up and gripped his hand tightly, the pair looking like ghosts on the stairs before the great, dark manor. Together, they glanced beyond the gate and Draco knew what they were thinking of. It was silly, really, but it was Christmastime and they all wanted one gift: freedom.

* * *

He was her godfather, her uncle, her beloved father's younger brother, and yet _she_ was the one who was having the most difficulty with Alastair Greengrass' presence. Since his dramatic ejection from the Greengrass family, Alastair had fully embraced his radical ideas, which included demanding wages for House Elves, providing assistance to Muggle families with magically inclined children, and attacking nepotism in the Ministry. In defense of these ideals, he would deliver cutting remarks and slight jabs that rather hurt for some reason. Astoria often hid her emotions at school, but with family she never held back.

"It would be greatly appreciated," Astoria growled, "if you would refrain from mentioning wages around Dop. It makes him very upset and full of homicidal tendencies, which is not conducive to either party."

"Astoria, it is unfair that they are subject to such servitude," Alastair lectured. "Dop has been nothing but kind to this family and he is treated like an animal."

"He is a House Elf," Astoria said dryly. "How _else_ is he to be treated?"

"Precisely!" Alastair proclaimed. "It is that sort of prejudice that needs to be broken down in order for there to be equality." Astoria rolled her eyes and left the room.

Daphne was an angel, naturally. She encouraged friendly conversation, stimulated games of chess and Exploding Snap, and perpetually neatened up the estate. Astoria rather appreciated the latter, considering she was crap at domestic spells; besides, it seemed to keep Daphne busy. All she required was a little conversation and Victor fulfilled this, being an extremely genial, outgoing man and a good companion. Astoria and Alastair were more reticent and more apt to observe than participate.

Astoria, in particular, liked watching Alastair and Victor together. Alastair was naturally rather aloof, but Victor seemed to pick up on his little nuances, spying fleeting glimpses of emotions. They moved perfectly in synch, operating as a single unit; Astoria could hardly tell who was supporting whom. Their love was undeniable, if subtle. Daphne enjoyed watching them too, a goofy grin perpetually appearing on her face. Yet, this did not stop Astoria and Alastair continually engaging in a battle of wits.

"Astoria, one must appeal to logic when handling Pureblood prejudices," Alastair said.

"I have plenty of logic," Astoria explained. "There is something to be said about the way we Purebloods are raised. Our superiority lies in our extensive family history, stretching back centuries. We are literally tied to the land and our fortune derives from it."

"Money does not improve a person's character."

"A proper education does. We are endowed with fabulous libraries and we are learned in history, geography, magical theory, and writing, as well as rudimentary spell work and a dabbling of any language of our choosing by the time we are but eleven years old. And not to be ignored, of course, is our training in etiquette."

"Now _that_," Victor said with a grin, "is something I can definitely appreciate."

"Dancing, hosting, poise, rhetoric, and grace must be taught," Astoria declared, "because they are not naturally acquired."

"Being able to balance a book on your head does not encourage one to become a good citizen," Alastair continued.

"We are not taught to be 'good' at anything—'good' is only mediocre, and no one strives to be that. An upbringing in a competitive atmosphere instills a certain amount of ambition to rise to the top, resourcefulness with one's skills, and cunning to beat out any rivals, all Slytherin qualities," Astoria remarked.

"I was a Gryffindor," Victor grinned. Astoria refrained from wrinkling her nose; Victor was a good man, even if his Housemates usually annoyed her.

"It is these qualities, along with our ability for concealment," Astoria continued, "that make us superior."

"Such a proud little snob you have become, Astoria," Alastair clucked. "I will give way that your logic has reason—"

"Thank you," she said primly.

"—but there is a single flaw. All these characteristics that you mentioned can have disastrous consequences. Pureblood society's own self-pride and self-preservation has isolated itself from the rest of wizard society: one is either with them or against them and such a black and white situation is quite dangerous." This comment quickly caused Astoria to lose her voice because it made her think of her parents. Once again, she left the room.

Daphne did not approve of this tension and did her best to assuage everyone. Astoria had spent all of morning before Christmas walking along the hills with a book and when she came back, she was shocked to find the house much different than it was when she exited. Gold tinsel was strung everywhere and dancing gold stars floated near the ceiling, the light reflecting off the tinsel and making the room twinkle. Stockings were hung over the fireplace, which crackled and gave off heat. A garland wound its way around the stairs and in the corner of the sitting room stood a giant tree, glowing with ornaments and lights and littered with presents under the tree. The aroma of gingerbread and sugar cookies floated from the kitchen, making the air warm and sweet. It was _exactly_ how her parents set up the house for Christmas her entire life. Tears prickled her eyes as she glanced around and voices from the kitchen came into the sitting room, where Astoria stood speechless.

"I couldn't think what to get you for Christmas," Daphne said softly, her eyes glowing, "so I thought that I would do this for you," she gestured to the room. It was home and it was _marvelous_. "Do you like—"

"It is perfect, Daph," Astoria said, her throat tight from fighting back tears. "Thank you so much." Although not normally one for affection, Astoria threw her arms around her sister and buried her face in her thick blonde hair. She knew that Victor and Alastair were watching her, befuddled by her rather dramatic response. At last she pulled away, muttering something about needing warm clothes and escaped to the kitchen, where Dop gave her a mug of tea and a plate of cookies while she hid her tears. Perhaps, Astoria thought, that Christmas would not be half-bad after all.

* * *

As it turned out, Loony Lovegood had been in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor along with the wand-maker, Ollivander. He had not heard much noise from the prisoners, which was odd considering they usually were always calling out to be rescued or screaming from the Cruciatus. However, Loony was rather harmless and Ollivander was growing rather old, which meant that the Death Eaters rarely baited them. Draco had not even known there were captives in the dungeon until his dear Auntie Bellatrix ordered him to bring a few plates of food down because the House Elves and Wormtail were predisposed. Draco resented her requesting to do tasks that were excessively below his station and carefully explained this to his dear Auntie Bellatrix.

"Oh," she crooned, "dearest nephew of mine—you think this is below your station? Well, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your precious family began to crumble when your father was thrown in Azkaban. And then Severus had to kill Dumbledore because you could not," she listed. "And then your dearest papa lost his wand: your father and family lost all power and influence that day. Considering all this, you would do well to do anything to stay in His good opinion, lest you wish to fall out of His ranks. Obey _and don't you ever defy my orders!_" was her shrill, terrifying cry. So, Draco did as he was told.

"Is that you, Draco Malfoy?" a dreamy voice questioned, her voice like a beacon of light in the dark dungeon.

"Stand back away from the door," Draco said, trying to keep his voice forceful even though he was slightly shaken up after his encounter with his dear Auntie Bellatrix.

"Oh, it _is_ you, Draco Malfoy," the voice said. "I was wondering when you would come to visit us." The light from his wand finally landed on the figure and there sat Loony Lovegood, cross-legged on the floor and her butterbeer cap necklace glittering in the faint light.

"This is not a visit," he snapped, placing the plates of food on the ground.

"Oh, you brought us a meal. So kind of you! Was that your aunt shouting upstairs? She sounded quite angry. Are you alright? You look rather perturbed. Does he not look perturbed, Mr. Ollivander?" At least the wand-maker knew better than to speak to him in such a forward manner.

"Shut up, Loony," Draco scowled, slamming the door behind him.

"Say hello to Astoria Greengrass for me!" she called after him and he just about wanted to die.

* * *

Christmas had gone off well enough. Daphne was quite thrilled to receive a letter from Pansy saying that she was holding onto her gift until they were back at school. This renewed Daphne's faith in her friend and rendered her in a chipper mood. Astoria had received a book from Alastair and a cashmere scarf from Victor that Daphne helped pick out. Daphne received a rather suspicious package that made her blush; that night at dinner, Astoria noticed she was wearing a new pair of earrings.

But now, Christmas was over and the house remained decorated, bright, and cheery. Although the house felt empty without her parents' presence, Daphne made up for it in every way possible. The familiarity of the decorations, aromas, the expansive grounds that Astoria loved to roam were pleasantries that made her glad to be home. However, it was time to assess what amount of money was available to Astoria and Daphne. She had been rummaging through her father's desk in his study, looking at bank statements, budgets, investments, and legal documents when Alastair entered the room; Astoria felt guilty at first, like a child caught snooping around in something that wasn't theirs, but then she realized that she had a right, no, _a duty_ to be investigating such matters. She explained this to her uncle, who nodded.

"And why you and not your sister?" he inquired. For a moment, in the flickering shadow of a candle, Alastair looked very much like her father, except perhaps more rakish, young, and serene.

"There are many good things one can say about Daphne," Astoria began carefully, vigilant to not sound bitter, "but her business sense and shrewdness unfortunately cannot be said. She is too untainted, too liberal with her affection, and tends to overindulge. My parents believed that I would be more suitable to manage everything and they know I will be fair in my appropriations." She realized how old she sounded and turned away for a moment.

"Was she angry at you?"

"For a few weeks, but she eventually understood that it was for our mutual benefit. She is my sister, after all." An odd look appeared on Alastair's face. "Family is all we have now," she murmured before turning back to the papers. "I know that my father defended you. I had a knack for hiding and listening to conversations and he was always on your side. He protected you; I know he still tries to send you money, even if you consistently send it back." Alastair stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"It is a burdensome duty to protect a family," he said and Astoria was not sure if he was talking about her father or herself. "You are too young. It was unfair for Thomas—"

"It is done," Astoria said simply, picking up a quill. "Besides, I am more capable."

"No, Astoria," her uncle disagreed. "That is an adult's job. You are a child, fifteen years old and your parents _abandoned you_ and expect you to act like an adult—"

"They did not leave _us_, they left that society and _Him_," her voice became shrill and louder in indignation, "and I do not have to _act_ like an adult, essentially I _am_ an adult—"

"This estate is not meant to be yours," Alastair bellowed. "You are too young to manage—"

"You are not my father!" Astoria finally shouted. "You are not even a part of this family, so what right do you have?"

"I am your uncle and your godfather, that is more than enough to justify my involvement," Alastair countered.

"And what do you propose? Have you any other—?"

"I could have it."

"_No_, it is _mine_. You _left_ this family—" Astoria hissed.

"They left me first!" he protested, but Astoria continued, feeling her anger boil over.

"—so _I_ will take care of what remains of this family, regardless to whatever rights you perceive you have because it is certainly not up to you to decide anything related to the Greengrasses." Alastair looked at her quite harshly for a moment and Astoria felt a tinge of regret for her words. However, his expression softened after he collected himself.

"I am not trying to take it from you," he coaxed her and she recognized his honesty. "You are simply too young to carry this burden, Astoria."

"But I have to!" she cried out, feeling tears prick her eyes. "I have to take care of my family and I will do what must be done. You, Uncle, may follow your morals and principles, but I cannot allow you to profess your beliefs and expect to keep this family safe—it will get us all killed. That is why I must take care of us, because I am nobody, just the invisible little Greengrass girl and it has been planned by my father for years to keep me—the bright, useful daughter— in the dark," Astoria's voice trembled, "to keep me in the dark for so long that I become accustomed to it and so when darkness falls on all of us, I am able to guide us through. I see now that it not my right, but my duty to keep the estate as my own." Alastair stared at his niece, his celery green eyes uncharacteristically emotive; he was sad.

"Fifteen," he whispered, his voice harsh and raspy from containing himself. Astoria did not know what to say in response and turned her gaze back to her work.

"I am not tired. You may join me if you wish, but I must read these papers," she said calmly. Alastair nodded and tentatively sat down in a chair, taking a book from the stack on a nearby table.

She woke up in the morning on the couch in the corner of the study with a blanket on her. The papers lay untouched on her father's desk and Alastair sat in a chair, half-dozing with the same book in his hand.

* * *

Draco found himself going through an old photo album one day when his mother sat down next to him. Her long, thin fingers trailed across a picture of his first year at King's Cross Station, standing with all of his classmates.

"It seems like just yesterday when you came home for that first Christmas," she said softly. "You were very much missed." Her fingers skid along the page to the face of Daphne Greengrass, who smiled brightly and twirled a blonde lock. "A pity, the state Calliope and Thomas left their daughters in. How fares Daphne? She is such a pretty girl, always so polite."

"Daphne is perpetually well," Draco said carefully. "It is in her nature to wear a smile, regardless of the circumstances."

"Does she have a younger sister? I vaguely remember a little brunette," Narcissa mused and Draco nodded. "Remind me her name, Draco."

"Astoria," Draco said and it was the first time her name fell from his lips since he had seen her on the train in September. It had always been 'Little Greengrass' or 'the Greengrass Brat' or just 'Greengrass.' Never Astoria. The name tasted foreign to his palate.

"Ah, yes, little Astoria Greengrass," his mother smiled. Draco refrained from snorting at the use of the diminutive—it was impossible to not think of her as 'little.' "She was always very, very quiet, but for some reason she always insisted on speaking to you."

"When was this?" Draco asked, trying to not sound too surprised.

"Oh, you were very young, perhaps five or six," his mother assured him. "She insisted on talking to you and it always ended in an argument and we would have to separate you two. Then she would go back to being a silent little girl and hiding behind her father's legs. And how is Astoria Greengrass, then?" Draco pondered this question for a moment. Astoria Greengrass was not well, but perhaps she was stronger than all the rest of them and the head of her family in her parents' absence. However, this was not to be mentioned. He finally settled on an answer and deeply sighed.

"There is little to be said about Astoria Greengrass; she is the most invisible girl in the entire school."

"A shame," Narcissa Malfoy murmured. "If only she could be more like her sister."

Draco silently disagreed.

* * *

"I think it is a matter of standing up for your principles," Victor explained over tea one day.

"Well, we all cannot be as brave as you Gryffindors," Daphne said with a smile. Astoria was thinking the same thing but knew she could not have said it as kindly as Daphne did.

"Very well," Victor smiled back, "but I do not believe it is a matter of bravery, but self-preservation, which I believe you Slytherins can relate to. Or if you would prefer some Ravenclaw logic, I would say that it is rational to clearly profess your ideals in order to shape the world into something you wish it to be. Or the Hufflepuffs would say it is important to stand up for your principles because it is a matter of loyalty; I believe even Slytherins understand that notion."

"We have our own code of loyalty," Astoria carefully said, but did not continue to explain it. Both Victor and Alastair quickly glanced at one another. Astoria knew this sort of loyalty was usually only in regard to family; Alastair had not quite experienced that and Victor understood. "Additionally, I would have to respectfully disagree with you, Victor, that standing up for one's principles is a matter of self-preservation. Having the wrong ideals can easily get one killed, and therefore, sometimes it is best to be passive."

"But passivity is what has allowed this war to begin in the first place," Alastair astutely added. "If people were not afraid to defy Him, He would have never gained such power."

"Your talk borders on treason, Uncle," Astoria said carefully, examining her hands carefully folded in her lap.

"Have you chosen a side, then?" his eyes flashed and the room grew dangerously quiet.

"We are not in good standing with Purebloods since our parent's departure," Astoria said, not directly answering the question (besides, Theo said it was not about sides anymore, but survival). "With talk like that, we cannot expect to remain unharmed."

"You are at Hogwarts, you are safe," Victor warmly assured them. Astoria and Daphne looked down at their tea at the same time.

"Is Hogwarts safe?" Alastair asked and neither girl knew what to say in the silence.

"As safe as can be expected," Astoria finally managed to say, "when there is a war."

"You have not the slightest idea…"

"Daphne," Astoria cuttingly barked her sister's name as an order to not continue her quivering speech. Another long silence stretched out, all unsure how to remark. "Please excuse me," she finally said and left the room, knowing she would not be able to hold it in any longer. She grabbed a cloak and ran outside, desperately trying to escape the memories of screams, pain, and sleepless nights.

* * *

Christmas was entirely forgotten. Draco only remembered when his mother whispered, "Happy Christmas" in his ear and planted a kiss on his forehead at nightfall. The Manor seemed hollow and cold and Draco wished more than ever to return to school. He remembered how excited he would be to go back home for the holidays when he was younger; his parents were quiet in their affections, but their love and loyalty ran deep. The entire family would jet off to Italy, Greece, or France (his favorite) at a moment's notice; they used to be so happy and carefree. His father would read to him at night and his mother would fuss over him every time he was remotely near a broom. They were proud, _so_ proud, and rich and influential and he had everything he could have wanted. Now, he would do anything to restore his family back to that prestige.

At dinner, they were forced to dine with the Dark Lord and Draco had to put all his Occlumency lessons to work to avoid detection. The Dark Lord insisted on some 'pleasant' conversation with anyone who sat at the table. Draco knew his every word had to be carefully chosen to bring pleasure to Him; he did not fancy punishment for offending Him.

"Young Mr. Malfoy," He began, fixing his red eyes on Draco, "are you looking forward to your return to school?"

"I am, My Lord." Truth.

"But surely you will miss your family," He gestured with a wave of His long, spider-like fingers.

"Naturally, My Lord." Truth. Except his dear Auntie Bellatrix: he patiently awaited her funeral.

"I hear from Severus that you have been doing very well in your lessons."

"I have, My Lord. I find the curriculum much improved since Professor Snape has become Headmaster." Half-truth.

"The Carrows have given you supplementary lessons, have they not?"

"They have, My Lord." Truth.

"And you strive to do your best, young Mr. Malfoy?"

"Always, My Lord. The skills and instruction is indubitably useful." Half-truth.

"I am glad to hear this," He smiled and Draco thought the expression was a terrible sight, all cruelty and no feelings of true gladness.

"It is excellent that Pureblood children have received such privileges at Hogwarts," his father warily spoke, hoping his words would please Him. "We are most appreciative that Draco has received such excellent, practical instruction." The Dark Lord did not seem to care much and continued.

"Even the younger Purebloods have seemed to benefit. Despite the little… _mishap_ with the Greengrasses," His long fingernails drummed the table in annoyance, "apparently their daughter has proved to be quite loyal."

"Draco, are you acquainted with this girl?" his father asked, quite nearly begging for him to say yes. "Perhaps some arrangement could be made…" Honestly, Draco nearly groaned, it was hardly the time to be thinking about marriage.

"I find I am too busy to trifle with girls at the moment, Father," Draco said carefully, "although I will take your ever-helpful counsel to heart."

"True," Lucius Malfoy conceded. "Your lessons are far more important."

"I am pleased that we are all in accord," He said. Draco really despised His smile. There was a pause of silence.

"May I inquire is it… is it Miss Daphne Greengrass that you speak of, My Lord?" Lucius inquired.

"Oh no," He scoffed. "It is the younger that has her father's knack for _efficiency_. Little Astoria Greengrass has proved quite useful to us." Something bubbled up inside of Draco. Little Greengrass was a puppet to the Death Eaters; worse yet, He knew her name. Something had to be done and Draco found the words spilling from his mouth before he could even register them.

"Despite this, in my limited encounters with the younger Greengrass girl, I have found her to be rather foolish, a liability if you will. Additionally, she is quite young—only a fifth year, I believe—and is not nearly as capable in her spellwork as the older students… if you would indulge my opinion, My Lord," he added onto the end. The Dark Lord fixed his red eyes on Draco, studying him carefully as Draco quickly built up a barrier to his mind.

"This is quite true," He finally said and Draco was able to breathe easily. "Your insight is most useful, young Mr. Malfoy."

"Ever a servant to your work," Draco said in a monotone. "Mother, kindly pass the chicken?"

* * *

It was the night before they were to return to school and Victor had announced that he desired to have a formal dinner to wish the girls a safe trip back to school. Things had been tense with the arguing and both Victor and Alastair looked at Astoria differently; Daphne must have told them something about what was happening at Hogwarts. However, things exploded when the girls were getting ready for dinner.

Daphne was persuading her to wear a rather low-cut dress, but Astoria was protesting that it would not fit, given the amount of weight she had lost. She had become rather scrawny during the last three weeks of school before break, but being at home and having plenty of exercise encouraged her appetite and she had slowly put back on most of the weight. Still, it was not enough. At last, Daphne forced her to try on the dress and parade around the bedroom. Astoria felt rather nervous, seeing how the bruises from the Cruciatus Curse had not faded yet. Daphne was shouting at her to open the bathroom door and when Astoria did finally step out, it seemed as though she had gathered an audience. At that moment, Alastair and Victor appeared at their bedroom door and when Astoria stepped out and all noticed the green bruises, a deep silence fell over the room. Daphne bowed her head in shame while Victor looked worried; Alastair, however, grew angry.

"How did you receive those bruises?"

"It is none of your business," Astoria growled, pushing past him out of the room.

"Astoria, get back here!" Alastair bellowed as Astoria tore down the hallway.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed back before sitting on the stair banister and sliding all the way down. Alastair followed hotly on her heels and Astoria dashed to the kitchen and slid into the pantry, where a door led to the cellar. She knew nowhere else to go. Astoria climbed down the ladder and shut herself the little storage cabinet under a sink in the back of the cellar—it was her favorite hiding spot when she was younger.

"Astoria, are you down here?" Alastair called. "I know you are here. Ten years and you have not changed your hiding space preferences." Astoria held back tears. "Daphne told Victor and me what has been happening at school: that students have been punished in the dungeons by the Carrows—that you are learning the Dark Arts—that Muggle Studies teaches you that Muggles are like animals—that everyone is scared—that it is not safe." Astoria choked back a sob. "But there is something, I know, that she did not tell us. The only reason why she would do that is to protect you, or perhaps protect your pride. So I ask: what did they_ do _to you, Astoria?" His voice was encouraging and it was all too much; Astoria finally released a sob and the door to the cabinet opened, light from Alastair's wand reaching her face. She did not dare to look at him.

"They were looking for Mother and Papa," she finally said, her voice painfully small. "They needed to know where they were and I could not supply the answers they were looking for."

"Astoria…"

"The Cruciatus Curse," the whispered, the words springing off the walls of the cellar and filling the room with a terrible echo. Or perhaps, she just imagined the echo because the pain reverberated in her chest. "It was meant to be persuasive. Although they need little excuse to use the curse now. They have taught all the seventh years to perform the curse on students who have received detention. All the seventh year Slytherins except the half-blood… and Daphne," Astoria confessed. She hardly knew what she was saying, the words coming out of her mouth like a flood. "Daphne could not bring herself to perform the curse. They brought me down to the dungeons as leverage, but she still could not do it. So I did it for her. And I have done it since."

"You have performed the Cruciatus?" Alastair breathed.

"Multiple times, yes. I know what it feels to receive it, too," she said, her eyes fixed forward, away from her uncle's gaze. "I know how they feel when they are screaming on the ground. I know how they look up at me when it is all done and feel nothing but hate, pain, and fear," she recited.

"You should not have to know this. You will not return to Hogwarts," he ordered.

"That is too suspicious. We will be hunted down and killed, the same fate as I am sure my parents will receive. Daphne and I must return," Astoria blankly stared at the wall of the cabinet.

"There must be some other way."

"There is not," she shook her head.

"I had no idea…"

"Of course you did not," Astoria quipped, her eyes flashing in the dark. "You only know what Daphne knows, not what she cannot remember."

"Astoria," Alastair began, hearing her cryptic tone. "What do you mean?"

"I was only trying to protect her," Astoria whispered. "I did what I had to do. Daphne cannot keep a secret and she is too easily swept off her feet, so I did what I had to do—" her voice became frantic.

"Astoria, just tell me what you did— tell me what happened," Alastair begged. Astoria finally looked at him, green eyes meeting green eyes. She wished so much that her father was there.

"There are seventh years who have taken the Dark Mark. Some are known to have taken the Mark, but with most, it is a secret. Daphne saw someone's and I could not… I knew she would not be able to contain herself. So, I made her forget."

"You mean…?"

"I have found that I have quite a knack for performing Memory Charms," she said, a small smile twisting on her face. Her newfound hatred for the Carrows had made her continue making the students she cursed in detention forget their woes. There were now three students who could not remember an entire detention session and Astoria took great pleasure in this act of defiance. "I Obliviated Daphne. It seems as though the spell has held quite well," she mused.

"You have done all this," Alastair said in amazement, "to protect your family?" Astoria nodded, curling herself up in a tighter ball. "Do the bruises still hurt?"

"How did you recognize them?" Astoria asked curiously. Alastair shook his head, refusing to answer. They remained in the dark in silence for a few moments.

"Astoria, please come out." After a few seconds, Astoria slowly scooted out of the crawl space and nearly fell when her legs gave out underneath her as she tried to stand. Alastair caught her and hoisted her up. The familiar presence, the memorable smell, and the strong chest reminded her too much of her father and she clutched his shirt before finally burying her head in his chest and releasing a sob. Alastair cradled her and sat down with her curled up on his lap like a toddler. There, she screamed and cried and sobbed that it was not fair until she had no more tears to offer.

* * *

"Make Him proud, my son," were his father's parting words.

Draco wished more to make his father proud rather than cruel, heartless creature who now dominated over his home. Unfortunately, they went hand in hand.

"I thought you mentioned that there was little to say about Astoria Greengrass," his mother whispered to him when they were alone.

"And I maintain it," he insisted.

"Then why did you have so much to say about her to Him?" Narcissa Malfoy asked before sighing. "The Greengrass eyes never cease to hypnotize…"

"Honestly, Mum," he groaned. "She is the most annoying little thing I have ever begrudgingly been acquainted with." Narcissa smoothed his hair back.

"Do not meddle with the Greengrasses. And say hello to Pansy for us."

The latter was not going to happen. However, the former seemed to be a necessary evil.

* * *

"I was rather cold toward you this week," Astoria quietly apologized at Platform 9 and ¾. "I did not know how to react in your presence." Alastair seemed to nod understandingly; he knew that an uncle was not a replacement for a father. "If there is ever trouble, I wish you and Victor would consider Apparating to the Manor. It will protect you. That does not give you permission to run around professing your doctrines, but should there be extenuating circumstances, I would hope that you find refuge here."

There was a small moment of understanding between uncle and niece, godfather and goddaughter. Astoria had said as much as she could manage to say aloud and the act itself forced her to swallow all pride. Had she been brave like a Gryffindor, maybe she would have confessed that he was their only family left and so she needed him around. And perhaps if Alastair Greengrass had decided to speak rather than give a knowing nod, he would have said that he understood that she only trusted him to protect her while she was busy protecting everyone else. But neither felt the need to say anything more on the matter, because when it came down to it, they were Slytherins and sentimentality was not helpful in the ways of survival.

Alastair protectively pulled her into a hug, but then stiffened for a moment, whispering, "Merlin, is that Lucius Malfoy's boy?"

* * *

Draco Apparated on his own to King's Cross Station. On Platform 9 and ¾, he saw Little Greengrass and Daphne bidding the two men farewell. Affectionate hugs were given by all and the man who looked very much like Little Greengrass seemed to whisper something in her ear. Three unnerving pairs of green eyes flashed in his direction and Draco met them with his steely grey gaze. Little Greengrass' eyes rolled, Daphne's eyes smiled, and the man looked at him suspiciously.

At last, they boarded the train and despite the annoying chatter that filled the room, Draco had little desire to seek out a different place to sit. Undoubtedly he would end up sitting next to Little Greengrass and then she would fall asleep on him, and he could not have _that._


	7. Chapter 6: The Dutiful and the Damned

_Author's Note: Once again, I'm sorry for the long wait between updates. **I was ready to post this chapter OVER A WEEK AGO and then Fanfiction kept sending me error messages and I was very sad. I finally got on the forums and figured out a way around the problem. It seems like a lot of people were having this issue, and if you are, then tell me in your review and I'll show you a temporary fix.** _

_On the bright side, during spring break I was able to get a lot of writing done. Also, I'm hoping that my workload for spring quarter will be more tolerable than that of my winter quarter and that I will have more time to write. I'm actually really excited about the next chapter- it should reveal a lot about Astoria's character. _

_**And for those of you who have been so patient with the end of "The Reign of Kellyn Wood" (my other HP fanfic), I have been encountering the same problem updating as I did with this fanfic.** The final chapter is going to get a final read-through and be posted tomorrow, I promise. _

_But in the meanwhile, enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review!_

**

* * *

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ON THE OTHER SIDE

_Chapter 6: The Dutiful and the Damned_

He did not plan on sitting with Pansy Parkinson on his ride back to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays. Well, it was to be expected because she was in his House and year and they tended to congregate in the same crowd. He supposed, then, that the key detail was that he did not plan on sitting with Pansy Parkinson… _alone_. Because honestly, she was the last person he wanted to be alone with. And yet, that was how things happened. All the seventh year Slytherins were apparently quite exhausted and had fallen asleep as the Hogwarts Express chugged along: Crabbe and Goyle's heads knocked together (hence worsening their prevalent brain damage), Daphne's head had fallen on Blaise's shoulder, Millicent Bullstrode was almost snoring in a corner, and Tracey Davis' chin rested on Nott's shoulder, both of them falling asleep and leaving the book they were reading on Nott's knee. Thus, everyone was asleep except for Draco and Pansy.

It was quiet. It was awkward. And for the life of him, he could not even meet her gaze.

"After everything we have been through, you cannot even look me in the eye?" she asked in a dangerously low, but sad whisper. "What a pathetic, cowardly little boy you have grown up to be, Draco," she verbally stabbed him.

And those two sentences made him mesmerized and disgusted by her all at the same time: because she knew him so well that she could identify exactly which adjectives would most forcefully punch him in the gut, but her voice was low and her words were clever and calculated… and she still cared. Which was sort of nice, if he really needed someone to care. Which he did not. So, it was a superfluous detail.

"Pansy," he responded simply because he did not know what else to say to her. Her lips twitched to form a bitter smile and she released a mirthless little laugh before folding her hands into her lap. Then, she looked up at him. Her eyes were startling—not in the way his grey eyes could freeze a room in a glance, nor in the same way that the Greengrass eyes hypnotized all in their path—but her eyes were dark, almost sinister, and scheming, but when let privy to her innermost thoughts (which was honestly more of a curse than a blessing), they revealed great vulnerability. At the moment, her gaze was strong and pointed, as if she wanted to rip his head off his neck and alternately trail kisses down the same stretch of skin.

Draco noticed these things not because he was a pathetic, sappy fop with a weakness for pretty faces. No, all Slytherins were observant like that and to some degree, all Slytherins operated the same way. If one were to blink, one could miss a multitude of emotions only visible by the minutest movements of the face. Slytherins did not smile, but quirked their lips upward. They did not uproariously laugh, but abruptly chortled, sneered, scoffed, or snorted. They did not tersely frown, but pursed their lips for a second. All too often, they appeared bored, detached, and haughty—it was their default facade. Daphne Greengrass was an exception. Little Greengrass almost made up for her sister's deviation but as the year progressed, she seemed to be having an increasingly more difficult time keeping her shit together. She was young, which almost excused her except for the small fact that she brought her adult burdens upon herself.

"There are less students on the train," Pansy said, at last averting her gaze. "Some students from more questionable families have not returned." Draco did not know what to say and instead remained silent, which he figured was the most dignified thing to do. "There is an empty cabin next door. It is uncommonly stuffy in here and I do not even want to know when was the last time Crabbe or Goyle bathed," she rose, scrunching her nose in disgust. Pansy opened the cabin door and then turned around to meet Draco's gaze. "You may join me if you wish."

Merlin damn it. Her words were smooth and confident, but her seductive gaze dragged him out of his seat and he followed her. Her eyes glittered with triumph.

"You did not write this summer," she said smoothly once they were alone.

"I was a bit busy," he sneered petulantly, "trying to make sure the Dark Lord was well situated in the Manor." She looked at him deprecatingly.

"Really mature, Malfoy," she returned to last names, as she did when she was cross. After a moment, she spoke again in a cautiously strained voice. "You ought to be thankful that He has chosen to reside in your house." He did not respond, knowing that he could not help but feel bitter on the matter. "You have not talked to me this entire term," she continued and here he could ascertain impatience creeping into her voice.

"I am afraid I have had nothing of interest to say to you," he said evasively.

"Nothing of interest?" she asked shrilly before collecting herself. "I would not care, Draco Malfoy, if all you did was talk about the weather or classes as long as you talked to me—because anything is better than this nonsensical silence. Have you even spared me a thought?"

"No," he said bluntly. It was best to be direct.

"You don't miss me?"

"Not really."

"Not really?" she inquired. Draco tried to hold in his wry smile. He certainly enjoyed using her for his more… carnal needs. She caught the smile and looked away, flushed with indignation. "How did we even come to this?" There was a long pause and she looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

"I thought that was a rhetorical question," he said dryly.

"It wasn't," Pansy snapped back. "And I want an answer."

"Because you are demanding," he sneered back.

"Are you just being a smartass or is this the reason?"

"_A_ reason. One of many," he crossed his arms, almost enjoying the pained look on her face.

"Oh, you seem quite at your leisure to list them all. As if I can stop you otherwise," she snapped, also sitting back and crossing her arms.

"I did not have time to deal with your needy nonsense or your showy dramatics. I required a more quiet existence," he said, lounging back into his seat.

"Yes, because being a Death Eater will _surely_ give you that," she mocked him. His eyes flashed dangerously and she only shrunk back the slightest amount. Draco began to regret following her into the Merlin forsaken cabin? "You did not miss me, but I did miss _you_," she said resolutely, but she checked her fingernails nonchalantly so he would miss the desperation in her gaze. "You have changed so much, Draco." Her voice grew painfully small and he almost felt bad for her because not even _he_ had quite figured out who he was. He was a Malfoy: that was all he knew and all that mattered. Whatever that meant, he was not quite sure. Draco looked out the window. "Draco," she whispered and her tone caught his attention. "I miss you yet," she breathed.

She was so desperate that it almost looked good on her. Except desperation never looks good on anyone. But she was of the female variety, of good stature in Pureblood society, and quite attractive, so he was going to take whatever he got. Every Slytherin knew that when offered an advantageous opportunity, you took it. He uncrossed his arms, knowing that she would notice the open gesture. She stood up and sauntered toward him. He really did have a vast appreciation of the Hogwarts school uniform. The skirts, when worn properly (i.e. short), were a marvel. Pansy's was quite nice. It was the dead of winter, yet she knew of his guilty pleasure and used it to her advantage. She pulled gently on his tie and he slowly rose. Her hands ran down his chest.

"My, you _have_ changed," she confirmed almost sadly.

"Not in some regards," he growled before placing his hands on her hips and pushing her against the wall of the cabin. His lips met hers and she melted in him. He explored her slender neck, undid the buttons of her shirt, and let his hands roam up her skirt. Only when she was about to submit herself fully to him—because he had her wrapped around his pinkie finger—that he pushed her away in and began to leave, pausing in the doorway to clarify things. "You make me sick. And I do not need you around," he announced, fixing the buttons of his shirt and smoothing his hair back.

His heart was still pounding as he left the cabin. He needed to gather himself together. He needed to find somewhere else to sit. And of course, there was Little Greengrass, with only a book as company. He sat down next to her without being invited.

"Who was the man with you at the platform?" he asked brusquely.

"Your collar is askew," she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye and pointedly ignoring his question. He fiddled with it before she sighed, snapped her book shut, and went to fix it herself. "What a little boy you have grown up to be," she sighed. He quickly stiffened at her words and touch. Her hands were as little as the rest of her body, but nimble and dexterous as she quickly smoothed out the edges of his collar and straightened his tie.

"You seem different," he confessed—because she _did_ seem different and he could not explain why for the life of him.

"You seem desperate," she said without missing a beat and giving him a knowing look. "You smell like Parkinson's noxious perfume," she added wrinkling her annoyingly pert, freckle-dusted nose.

"You are uncommonly bothersome," he spat. She met his gaze directly.

"And yet, you have lately developed a habit of sitting next to me on trains. We would not want to set a false precedent now, would we?" she asked airily, proposing the question knowing full-well that she would receive no answer. He hated those green eyes. Fortunately, she turned back to her book with a victorious smile. He remained sitting.

"If you fall asleep on me, I will kill you," he said stonily, causing her to snigger. Merlin, he could not fucking win. He was determined to make her upset because it was not fair. And he knew just the way to even out the scales. "Any news from your traitorous parents, Greengrass?" That quickly wiped that stupid little smile off her face.

"As if I would tell _you_, Malfoy," she spat. "Leave now." He scoffed, not taking her seriously. "_Get the fuck out of my face_," she hissed, swiftly positioning her wand under his neck. Merlin, the little brat sure could move quickly; she had reflexes that would surprise even the most nimble Seekers (such as himself). Little Greengrass was visibly shaking from anger as he slowly he rose from his seat.

"If I am a 'little boy,'" Draco sneered, "then what does that make you? An infant? My, you are— you are about ready to cry," he crooned. She swallowed and straightened her back.

"Leave," she croaked.

He stood up, buttoned his coat, and left her sitting alone, looking rather pathetic curled up in a little ball with her book. He was quite on a roll today with making people miserable. It was one of his many talents. If only, he thought wistfully, he could add "being able to find a good place to sit on the Hogwarts Express" to that extensive list—that would surely make his life easier.

* * *

"Miss Astoria Greengrass," Professor Slughorn greeted her. "Do take a seat. A cup of tea?" he inquired.

"Yes, please. No sugar or milk, if you will," she sat down neatly in the chair on the other side of the professor's desk.

"As you know, all fifth years are to meet with their House head to discuss their career options after graduation," Slughorn said, handing her a cup. Astoria had not been looking forward to this conversation, which was scheduled for the second week back from school. She could see her school file sitting on his desk; undoubtedly, a transcript showing three years of perfect marks followed by two years of mediocre grades were the first papers in the stack. He seemed to disregard the folder for a moment and instead questioned her directly. "How has your year been thus far, Miss Greengrass?"

"Quite well," she lied smoothly. "Thank you for asking, professor." It was really almost too easy to flatter the fat goose.

"Oh, good good, I am quite pleased to hear that. Any crowning achievements this year?"

_Undermining the Carrows' cruel detentions by placing memory charms on the students that I have tortured,_ she thought. What she actually said, though, was, "I have become quite adept with handling the thestrals in Care of Magical Creatures."

"The Greengrass family used to breed winged horses, am I correct?" _As if the man gives a flying shit about my family_, Astoria scoffed to herself. He knew all the pretty facts to make civilized conversation, as any well-raised Pureblood would be able to, but in all likelihood, he had forgotten who she was until she walked in the door.

"Yes sir, most unfortunately the practice has died. But the old barn on the estate remains quite well-preserved."

"How charming!" the man said with a bumbling smile. Astoria tried to return a pleasant smile, although she was quite sure it looked more like a condescending smirk. "Please excuse me for saying so, much you look remarkably like your father when smile so." Astoria silently agreed, which made the smile instantly disappear from her face. "Thomas Greengrass—he was very quiet in school, if I recall correctly, but one of the brightest and most respected young men in his year. And how is…?" Slughorn (the _fool_) at last apprehended that discussing Calliope and Thomas Greengrass was now considered taboo among Pureblood society and coughed awkwardly. "Shall we look at your file?" Astoria gave him a gesture to say it was permissible, struggling to hold back the sadness of the remembrance of her father. "Well, perfect marks in your first year! Oh, and your second! And in third year you added Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. Quite a well-rounded, yet taxing schedule, and nevertheless you received perfect marks that year as well!"

The poor professor seemed confused, which amused Astoria to no end. Professor Slughorn made it a practice to collect the best and brightest of Hogwarts: with her father's green eyes, her (formerly) prestigious last name, her ample fortune, and her previously perfect marks, she would have been an obvious choice. Yet, he had overlooked her! He seemed quite shocked indeed at his mistake, but Astoria knew it was no mistake. Perhaps he had his eyes on bringing her to his ranks once upon a time, but she had spent the last year and a half trying to receive mediocre marks to fall off the high flyers list—or the chopping block, according to her father. Astoria sat primly with a complacent, mocking smirk on her face, quite keen to see how Slughorn would react to her marks for the next year.

"And fourth year," Professor Slughorn began excitedly, before faltering and adjusting his glasses. "In fourth year, you…" He moved the paper back and forth, making sure he was reading the marks correctly. Once he affirmed that he had, he grimly set the paper down. "In fourth year, you barely passed all of your classes. That is… that is quite a change, isn't it, Miss Greengrass?"

"Indeed, sir," Astoria responded demurely, deriving far too much pleasure in the strange meeting.

"Why the change, Miss Greengrass? It is natural to become distracted from your studies at your age—"

"If you are insinuating that a young man is the cause, sir, you are quite mistaken. I would not allow that," she quickly objected, the coy, laughing smirk still glued on her face.

"Oh, yes, of course," the professor coughed. "But there are other causes of distraction, or perhaps you are simply not as devoted to doing as well in school as you were before." Astoria did not respond and watched the man squirm. "Then again, everyone has bad years. Let us continue." He flipped the page to her current marks for her fifth year. "Once again, barely passing. Most meticulously barely passing." Astoria looked down, worried that he would suspect something. It was a legitimate worry—he was a Slytherin himself and knew how the lot operated. "Is there something you are trying to achieve with these marks, Miss Greengrass?"

"I can achieve very little with those marks, professor. Oughtn't you scold me to do better?" she responded dryly.

"But you already know you can do better, Miss Greengrass, so I won't spare my breath," the man responded jovially, but with a knowing smile on his face. "I simply wish to know why the sudden change."

"Do I need a reason, professor?"

"It would satisfy this old man to hear one," he responded jocularly.

"Alright, I will give you a reason," Astoria said after downing the last of her tea. "I am sitting on an inheritance that will get me through life more than comfortably. I will have an estate and vast property, some of the finest and most beautiful in the country. I have the business intuition to wisely invest and expand my fortune in order to provide for my current and future families. Therefore, professor, I realized before my fourth year that I do not need to have good marks."

"But you need an education."

"Marks are not a measure of an education, professor," Astoria sneered. "They are a measure of meeting standards. And frankly, the standards do not apply when one is above the standards, which is the case of the majority of families in this House. Why do you bother, professor, having these unessential meetings when most Pureblood Slytherins find having to look for a job after school a disgrace to their family?" she rattled on, not caring if it flustered the corpulent pincushion.

"Some find a career rewarding," Slughorn managed to say. Astoria barely contained her haughty laughter.

"And some, like myself, have an inheritance. With all due respect, professor, although I am quite sure that you have terrific connections to many successful people in a variety of fields, I do not think you can give me any further advice and I would hate to waste your valuable time," she beguiled him. Slughorn brightened up at her flattery before glancing down at her transcript.

"It is but a shame," he said with a warm smile. (Astoria wanted to know where he learned to do that—smile warmly… it was quite convincing.) "You are too bright a girl."

"You are mistaken, sir—I am not uncommonly bright by any means."

"May I inquire if you are friends with Mr. Theodore Nott?" the professor suddenly asked.

"I do not know why you would inquire such a thing, considering it is unrelated our discussion of my marks and future career," Astoria quickly declined.

"I ask because I find Mr. Nott to be a remarkably smart young man who hides his intelligence very well. I told him that 'it is better to be a witty fool than a foolish wit.' I believe he understood my meaning, as I believe you do," Slughorn said carefully. Astoria had just quoted the line from Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_ to Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express back to King's Cross Station. "Although I am afraid what I should have said is 'So wise so young, they say do never live long.' But that is quite morbid, considering the times, would you not agree, Miss Greengrass?"

"I do not understand," she said flatly, although she understood far too well. These were the words of _King Richard III_—chilling, manipulative, and charismatic—perhaps the most dangerous and seductive of all of Shakespeare's villains.

"A foolish wit, then," Slughorn said with a wagging finger. "Well, off you go, Miss Greengrass. You are perfectly right: you do not need my career advice."

"Thank you for the tea, professor," Astoria tried to say as graciously as possible.

"You are welcome. Now run along," he shooed her off.

Needless to say, Astoria Greengrass never took Horace Slughorn lightly again.

* * *

"No, we need someone better!"

"Then why don't we just do it ourselves?"

"Because we have a dozen Purebloods to refine for Him, you dolt!"

"But if the occasion calls for the best, that would be—"

"Us, of course, but the students add a stronger element of cruelty. Pitting them against each other, furthering the divide between the Houses—they will never protest unless they want their pretty little necks slit."

"So, a student."

"The best."

"Crabbe or Goyle?"

"Too brutish."

"Malfoy?"

"Too much like his father. It makes me sick."

"Zabini?"

"Smart ass."

"Parkinson?"

"Artless."

"Bullstrode?"

"Tactless."

"Nott?"

"Consistent, but lacking flair."

"…Greengrass?"

"Merlin, brother, it took you long enough to get on the same page," said Alecto Carrow to her brother, Amycus, in the Slytherin common room, where most students were studying at the time. "Dearest Astoria Greengrass, my little pet, do come here," the woman crooned. Astoria wrinkled her nose in distaste at the nickname (hell, 'Little Greengrass' was preferred) and picked up her wand.

"What is your will?" she questioned with a bored tone.

"We have a special lesson for you," Alecto grinned. Her oral hygiene left plenty of room for improvement.

"Is my presence required at this instance for my lesson?" she asked dully.

"Yes, it is," Amycus smiled, the look mirroring his sister. The resemblance was quite horrific.

"If you would allow me to put away my schoolwork, I will be with you directly," she said smoothly. She gathered her books and went upstairs, avoiding looking at Theo, Zabini, and Malfoy. Daphne and Parkinson, however, followed her.

"Tori," her sister protested quietly. "You don't have to go."

"Of course she does, Daphne," Parkinson snapped. "Don't be naïve." Then, she turned to Astoria. "Since when are _you_ the favorite of the Carrows?" she asked jealously.

"I do not know. I do not make it a habit to observe their preferences at every passing moment," Astoria shrugged and rolled her eyes slightly.

"But they seem to think you are the best, better than the seventh years. _How?_" Parkinson demanded.

"I apparently have _finesse_, Parkinson," Astoria snapped at the seventh year, tiring of her interrogation. "Although you would not know what that means."

"_Ha!_ You little conniving, upstart _brat_," Parkinson sneered.

"_Pansy!_ Do not call my little—"

"You think you can redeem your family by buttering up the Carrows? That doing their bidding will save your parents from their impending punishment?" Parkinson relentlessly continued before turning to Daphne, whom she had interrupted. "Daphne, can't you see what your little sister is _doing?_ Can't you see what she's getting herself into?" Parkinson cried out. "I see you with Malfoy. With Blaise. With Nott. You are trying to get the Mark."

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks. The evidence was indisputable, but the conclusion was wrong, about as far from the truth as possible.

"Tori," Daphne whimpered.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," Parkinson apologized. "I only pointed it out so you would know the truth. As your _friend_, I mean no harm," she assured Astoria's sister. It was too much for Daphne to bear, who burst from the room, leaving Astoria and Parkinson alone. "You're still a little conniving, upstart brat," Parkinson reiterated. "You're trying to outdo us all, Greengrass, but I see who you really are: a faithless little girl. You are no believer."

"I believe that Purebloods are superior to Mudbloods," Astoria wrinkled her nose in disbelief at the accusations.

"But do you believe that the Mudbloods should be killed?"

"Whatever means to an end," Astoria said smoothly.

"I'm watching you, Greengrass. You are trying to be part of the flock, but you are just a little black sheep," Parkinson threatened.

"And Malfoy is avoiding you as if you have dragonpox. So I suppose that makes us both rather bent out of shape," Astoria sighed innocently.

"How do _you_ know a thing about Draco?" Parkinson asked with a paranoid edge to her voice. Astoria grinned—_now_ she had her.

"Well, since you plan on watching me, after a few days of observation, why do you not tell me?" Astoria smirked, her eyes dancing with malicious glee. "In the meanwhile, I have to go be a black sheep and butter up the Carrows," she shrugged triumphantly, as if she had just delivered the punch line to a great joke. But as she walked down the stairs, her smile faded.

"Where to, professors?"

"The dungeons, of course."

* * *

Merlin damn it—they wanted her to torture _Longbottom_. He was practically the general of Dumbledore's Army: to mess with him meant to mess with his bevy of brave Gryffindors, deluded Ravenclaws, and loyal Hufflepuffs. However, it was not as though he was a stranger to the dungeons or the Carrow's detentions. Astoria would have comfortably bet, in fact, that he was the most common visitor to the dungeons—excepting herself, Crabbe and Goyle, and the Carrows.

"Longbottom, I tire of seeing your pathetic face," Alecto sighed dramatically.

"Then look away, you coward," Longbottom growled in response.

"The problem is, Longbottom, that you cause too much trouble for us to look away," said Amycus.

"Well, don't plan on anything changing any time soon," he valiantly countered. "We're going to keep fighting for what's right! Dumbledore's Army forever!"

"It's a shame you're a Pureblood. Otherwise we would have… _disposed_ of you long ago."

"Blood does not measure a person's character! If it did, _you_ would be the Mudblood!" he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls. The words stuck to Astoria like a magnet, echoing in her mind and making her heart pound. Her thoughts were entirely altered by those two sentences; she knew that his words would haunt her for a long time.

Alecto and Amycus looked like they were going to explode, but suddenly, their anger quelled to a dangerous simmer.

"Speaking of blood," crooned Alecto, "Miss Greengrass?" Astoria knew her cue and exactly what the Carrows wanted. Using the curse that slit open Summerby's (her Hufflepuff Dark Arts partner) wrist, she flicked her wand to cut Longbottom's shoulder. He yelped in pain and Alecto shrieked in glee.

"You see, brother? This is why we use Ickle Greengrass. We may save her from her misguided parents after all!" Alecto tittered. Astoria remained stony, even when Longbottom looked her directly in the eye. He seemed shocked and Astoria knew that she was a surprising sight: so much anger and wrath contained in such a little body. "Don't you _dare_ look at her, Longbottom!" Alecto shrieked, magically seizing him by the neck. "You filthy blood traitor," the woman spat.

"_You're_ the traitor!" Longbottom managed to shout back, only to be thrown aside. Amycus shot her a glance and she knew what to do.

"_Crucio_," Astoria hissed and then something odd happened: Longbottom muffled his screams. How anyone could do that was beyond Astoria and it even threw her off for a moment, the spell ending abruptly as she stared at him in disbelief.

"Why did you stop, Greengrass? Are you not proud that we selected you?" demanded Alecto. Astoria ignored the last question and answered the first, knowing that they would be pleased with her answer.

"It is not as diverting if they do not scream," she said plainly and Amycus and Alecto howled in laughter before sinisterly responding:

"Then _make_ him scream."

Astoria could still not fathom how he managed to choke back his cries of pain. She _knew_ what the curse felt like and was in disbelief that he could do such a thing. To bear pain like that… Astoria knew no other way of handling it than screaming. Holding it in was internalizing the pain, letting it get to one's head and driving one insane.

"_Crucio_."

This time it worked better. She needed him to suffer so badly that she wanted him to scream because it would make her job so much easier: the Carrows could have their fix of cruelty and send her back to the dorms. But he didn't scream. When she was done, he laid on the ground before tilting up his head and laughed. His smile was bloody from biting his tongue and this would have slightly disgusted Astoria had he not been _laughing at her_. Taking a step forward, Astoria blasted him across the room so he skittered across the dungeon floor. She landed a spell to his stomach to knock the wind out of him and then gave him a matching cut on his opposite shoulder.

"Get up, blood traitor," Amycus hissed. Longbottom started to get up and Astoria shot a spell that swept his feet out from under him. "I said, _get up, blood traitor_," he repeated and Longbottom tried again. This time, she fired a spell that would knock the back of his legs and send him to the ground. "Get up, _now!_" Longbottom warily rose, yet hardly defeated, looking his torturers in the eye. Astoria wondered how he could be so fearless and so uncaring of the wounds he had received. He bore them with pride and seemed to be filled with a sort of confidence that made all the torture in the world seem like a mere paper cut.

No one could break Longbottom. And the fact that she had to try to made her sick.

"_Crucio_," she said again, feeling a tear of anger and frustration prickle her eye. When he was done with his silent writhing, Astoria turned away and blinked away the tears, knowing that if the Carrows thought amiss, she would be doomed.

"Miss Greengrass?" Amycus called out.

"Merely gathering myself, professor," she responded. "Father always said a dispassionate approach is best, but I find that this one irks me." The Carrows seemed to think that she was some comedian and began laughing again. She was not there to amuse them and used the _Incarcerous_ spell to bind up Longbottom. The Carrows fixed their hungry eyes on him, waiting to see what she would do next. She shot flames with the _Incendio_ spell dangerously close to him, conjured a snake to slither around his neck, and by the time she time she was ready to cast her next Cruciatus Curse, he was already a little unhinged from the teasing and taunting.

This time, it worked. His scream was a horrifically beautiful sound to Astoria's ears: it meant that she had finally succeeded and yet, it meant that she had broken Longbottom—just a little, because he could never be fully broken, not while Harry Potter Golden Child was still alive and the slightest flicker of hope remained lit. As soon as the spell ended, she waited for Longbottom to get a decent breath of air before she fired again and again and again. Only then were the Carrows satisfied and Astoria was exhausted, desirous of taking a long shower and listening to some records to get the sound of Longbottom's cries of pain out of her head.

"That'll do, Greengrass," Amycus patted her head and Astoria cringed at his touch. "Come along now."

"No," Astoria said sharply enough for the Carrows to look offended. "I am not yet finished with this pathetic waste of pure blood," she lowly hissed.

"Astoria Greengrass," Alecto laughed to herself, running a finger across Astoria's cheek, "my little dark horse," she said with fondness and led her brother out of the dungeons. When the door closed, Astoria turned to Longbottom.

He had changed so much. Then again, who hadn't changed? Astoria knew a lot of things about a lot of people, especially when a lot of people talked around her like she was not a person with a pair of perfectly functioning ears.

Perhaps Longbottom had grown, but Astoria thought it was more likely that he had at last learned to carry himself better: like a general, with military precision, shoulders back, a confident gait, and eyes taking in everything around him. Like everyone, he was constantly on the lookout. He was not the stuttering, quiet boy who everyone thought really should have been in Hufflepuff. No, he was far too brave, Astoria understood that now. She rather hated him for his bravery, in fact; it made her feel like a weak, scared little girl. Which she wasn't. So obviously he was fucked up in some way.

"Alecto has taken quite a liking to you," he said before he coughed violently, still feeling the effects from having the wind knocked out of him.

"I would say it is a pity that she has not done the same to you, but that would be a lie," Astoria said with a soft voice and a mocking gaze. He at last looked up at her and saw her cold expression, his lips twisting into a bitter smile.

"Why are you still here?" he croaked.

"I am not done with you, Longbottom. If you think you can laugh at me and just walk away, you are sorely mistaken," Astoria growled. Longbottom just looked at her for a moment.

"She's right, you know."

"Pardon?"

"Alecto Carrow. She said you're a dark horse. I don't think anyone could have expected _that_ out of you."

"I did not ask you to judge my character. I make no apologies for not fitting into the darling square box you would like to put me in," she sneered.

"Luna seemed to like you, though," Longbottom said and Astoria froze, eyeing him carefully. "She told me about you trying to feed the thestrals, even though you couldn't see them."

"What of it?" she asked defensively.

"It is unexpected," he shrugged, fighting off sleep. "Have you heard where they may have taken her?" Astoria thought about playing dumb, but then decided it would be better to be more direct.

"I have not."

"If you did, would you tell me?" Astoria pondered the question for a moment.

"No." He tried to laugh, but winced.

"You are something, Astoria Greengrass. I feel like I've learned a lot about you."

"Such a tragedy that you will not remember it," she said, pointing her wand at him. His face suddenly grew pale.

"_You,_" he breathed. "_You're_ the one who has been wiping memories." Astoria did not even bother to deny it—he was going to forget it all anyway. "We thought at first that they were just repressing their memories, but then they couldn't remember it at all. And Madam Pomfrey said that the memory loss wasn't a result of being tortured. It was because someone was magically removing their memories," Longbottom rambled. "But why? Why would you do it? You're lucky that so few people know about it: only Madam Pomfrey and a few of the higher-uppers. Otherwise, we've kept it quiet, figuring that there has to be a reason why someone would…" he rushed on until his voice trailed off.

"Would _you_ want to remember being tortured?" she asked, towering over Longbottom. He looked up at her with tired eyes, but with a gaze that said he was not about to stop fighting.

"Yes," he said resolutely. "I was very forgetful when I was younger. But now, when everything matters, when remembering is a matter of life and death, and when remembering means being able to tell my children what I did, my memory is something I don't want tampered with. But you seem to think differently," he gulped. "It was _you_ that they dragged out of Slytherin common room and into the dungeon, wasn't it? Everyone heard you scream. You hate them, don't you? The Carrows. You hate them as much as we do. So why do you follow their orders? Why do you let them continue to hurt people? There is another way, Astoria."

"Do not call me that."

"There is another _side_."

"There are no sides."

"You're wrong."

"You see the world in black and white. _Of course_ you would think I am wrong," she scoffed.

"You think you don't have a choice," he pleaded, "but you _do_, Astoria."

"Do not call me that," she repeated.

"Don't damn yourself."

"I am already damned," she flung back at him and readied her wand.

"Please don't," he begged, weakly holding a hand out to stop her. She heard footsteps down the hall.

"Greengrass," was called in a sing-song voice. It was Alecto Carrow.

"Please don't, Astoria," Longbottom whispered. The footsteps grew closer and Astoria's heart hammered in her chest. "I am _begging you_. Please don't do—" She Stunned him before he could finish the sentence.

"_Obliviate,_" she whispered fiercely, grabbing his memories and striding toward the door. She opened and shut it to meet Alecto Carrow, eye to eye.

"You done in there?" the woman grinned.

"Yes," Astoria shrugged. "I feel better now."

"Good girl. Now go to bed. Longbottom will drag his sorry self to the Hospital Wing eventually," the woman laughed and Astoria smiled mirthlessly. She briskly walked to the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories, said the password, walked through the common room while avoiding the concealed glances from Theo, Zabini, and Malfoy, and hopped up the stairs to her room.

She doubted her Memory Charm. With _Obliviate_, the incantation had to be said slowly, clearly, and thoughtfully for optimal results. One was to carefully and choicely cut and trim memories, not grab them in haste. She had taken either too little or too much of Longbottom's memory; another possibility was that she had not taken the memories cleanly enough and little flashes would remain; or, the memories would eventually come back to him… and she could not allow Longbottom to have leverage over her. Astoria paced the room and twisted the emerald encrusted gold ring that her father gave her.

Worse yet, Daphne was convinced (thanks to Pansy Pug-Faced Parkinson) that she was trying to become a Death Eater. And she could not bear to have her sister look at her with such distain, disgust, and disappointment, so Astoria resolved to march upstairs and clear the air. However, she only managed to get half-way there when Parkinson once again stopped her. Astoria tried to go around her, but Pansy grabbed her, digging her claw-like nails in her arm.

"Unhand me, Parkinson," Astoria growled.

"No, hear me out first," Parkinson demanded.

"No, you listen to me: stay away from my sister. Some friend you are to her," Astoria scoffed, trying to yank herself away from Parkinson.

"Friend? I know you to be smarter than your dear sister, Greengrass, so you can't possibly be as naïve as her. My loyalties will always be with my family and I should suggest that my family also includes the Malfoys."

"I was not aware you were still a couple," Astoria cruelly mused aloud. "I thought he dumped you… a very, _very _long time ago."

"We are going through a rough patch, that is all," Parkinson tossed her hair over her shoulder as Astoria pointedly coughed. "But, my family will be united with his one day, so I try to keep Draco's best interests in mind. And his best interests are pleasing the Dark Lord, and that means pleasing Snape and the Carrows. It is with the latter that you can help him." Astoria quite nearly laughed.

"Although it is debatable at times, Malfoy is no longer an infant and can figure things out on his own. He does not need my help to please the Carrows. Now if you will excuse me," she pulled herself out of Parkinson's grip.

"For all the reading you seem to do and time you spend studying, it is quite odd that your grades are mediocre," Pansy pondered aloud, causing Astoria to stop on the stairs.

"How do you know about my grades?" Astoria demanded.

"Slughorn. The man loves to be flattered; it isn't hard to get information out of him. 'Such a shame,' he said, 'that the younger Greengrass doesn't apply herself better.' Makes me wonder what you are really up to," Parkinson gloated. "Do I have your attention now?"

"I am listening," Astoria said, coming a few steps down the stairs.

"The Carrows think you are not book smart, but smart enough to torture—not like Crabbe and Goyle, but something more pliable and clever. What if they found out that you were actually the brightest witch in your year? What would they ask of you then?"

"I said I am listening, Parkinson," Astoria repeated, not liking her insinuations.

"Help Draco get on the Carrows good side."

"He will not accept my help. You know he is too proud."

"Well, I didn't say it would be easy, did I?" Parkinson crooned. "Just do it, Greengrass, and when your traitorous parents are executed and you are left destitute, I can maybe put in a good word for you and your sister." Astoria was fuming at Parkinson's terrible suggestion and fought off the urge to shove her down the stairs.

"Well, you are not called the Slytherin Bitch for no reason," Astoria said coolly.

"So you'll do it?" Parkinson spitefully grinned. Astoria reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Good. I'll see you around Greengrass," the girl tossed her hair and passed by Astoria, who at last forced her feet to move and continued upstairs to the seventh year girls' room. Daphne sat on her bed, absentmindedly flipping through one of her schoolbooks.

"Daph?" Astoria called out. Her sister did not look up. "Daphne, can we please talk?"

"What is there to talk about?" Daphne asked icily in a tone that sounded much too similar to her own voice for comfort. She did not want her sister to become like her.

"Parkinson is mistaken. In fact, she could not be more wrong," Astoria assured Daphne, who at last looked up with an endearingly hopeful look on her face.

"Really?"

"I promise."

"But some of the things she said… I thought they had _some_ truth in them, didn't they?"

"About what?"

"Well… you _are_ up to something with Blaise, Draco, and Theo, aren't you?" Astoria shrugged. "You won't tell me exactly what, will you?" Astoria shook her head. "In order to protect me?" Astoria paused a moment before nodding her head. "And the Carrows… are you doing that to help Mum and Father?"

"It… it is complicated, Daphne."

"I want to know," she insisted with tears in her eyes.

"When Papa and Mother fled the country, they crossed the Dark Lord's followers and were branded as traitors. They tried to not involve our family, but they could no longer remain neutral. We became traitors by association. So, to prove our loyalty to the cause, I have been under the Carrows' wing."

"Is it the only way?" Daphne asked after taking in all of the information.

"It is the only way I can see right now," Astoria sighed.

"I am so sorry, Tori," her sister whispered, pulling her in for a hug.

"I know. It is alright," Astoria patted her sister's back. "You just have to trust me, Daph, that everything I do is to help us get through this."

"I know. I trust you."

* * *

It was not for weeks that the consequences of the detention unraveled. It was the end of January when Longbottom suddenly snuck up behind her in the hallway, grabbed her arm, and whispered in her ear—"I know what you did"—that Astoria realized that it was a pretty good time to panic. Soon, whispers started about the some mysterious person nicknamed the 'Master of Memory' that was making students forget entire torture sessions in the dungeons.

"Well, it is you, is it not, Astoria?" Theo inquired. She did not dare respond. "Of course it is you," he said more softly. "You hate the Carrows. And you are quite proficient in Memory Charms," he mused. "No matter. The only problem is going to be keeping this a secret."

And that was how she found herself looking up at Draco Malfoy with his wand pointed at her face as he said the incantation, "_Legilimens._"


	8. Chapter 7: The Master of Memory, Part 1

_Author's Note: Another two-parter! (You know you love these things, so shhhh) It was actually kind of hard to split this chapter up, but I think I found a good part. Forgive me if the pacing is off. And I tried to format it so it is readable. Erm... enjoy?_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 7: The Master of Memory_

It was not until February that Astoria began to realize how much of a puppet she had become in the past five months of her fifth year at Hogwarts.

Only Merlin knew what Theo Nott was up to: he kept dropping books in her lap, odd things that she had never read before. She read authors like Aristotle and Plato in the original Greek, Plutarch, Seneca, Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke—they all turned out to be Muggles concerned with political philosophy… and she gobbled them up, especially the Greek texts because she had been learning the language since she was a toddler as a part of her Pureblood curriculum. Then there were old documents with fragile, yellowed pages, like "The Superitoriee of Purebloods," "A Tretes of Pureblood Warlocks," "A Studie of Blood Superioritee." These texts were countered by more modern studies and manifestos entitled "An Argument Against Pureblood Superiority," "A Quantitative Study of Pureblood, Halfblood, and Muggle-born Blood," and "A Survey of Interactions between Purebloods and Non-Purebloods and the Effects on Wizarding Society." Also, there were books about Dark Magic that Astoria shuddered while reading but then could not put down, followed by books about defense against Dark Magic and dueling strategies. She hardly knew what to make of it, yet her horizons had broadened on topics she had not considered before; suddenly, the world was bigger, scarier, and more fascinating than ever. Either way, Theo was trying to make some point that she had yet to grasp, which she found highly disconcerting.

There were also the Carrows to reckon with. Astoria kept count of the students she tortured. There were three before the winter holidays (Lavender Brown, Susan Bones, and Anthony Goldstein), then Neville Longbottom. She had hoped that there would be four students that had no recollection of what passed that night. By the end of January, however, she realized that there were only three.

She had been walking down the hallway to go to Dark Arts class when she felt someone tug at her elbow. Her first reaction was to jerk away, but she was held so firmly and closely that she could feel hot breath at her ear, so she didn't pull away or turn around, afraid of what she might see.

"I know what you did," said the voice. Her elbow was released and the figure walked on, only to turn around and acknowledge her for a moment. Neville Longbottom never looked more triumphant, not even when he was stifling his screams while under the Cruciatus.

Suddenly, she had a third force to reckon with: the fickle and dangerous Dumbledore's Army.

Her knees nearly collapsed under her after Longbottom left her standing in the hallway. She leaned against a wall for support, feeling like all her plans had come crashing down in the blink of an eye. She could handle Nott's clandestine plans. She could handle the Carrows' cruelty. But Longbottom? _No_, it was too much.

It took her a few minutes to gather herself and by the time she walked into class, Amycus Carrow was telling everyone to open their books. He did not bat an eye to her slight tardiness (a blessing of being a Slytherin and the Carrows personal pet), but Stupid Sodding Summerby was concerned.

"Are you alright?" he whispered. "You look pale."

"Fine," Astoria managed to respond tersely.

"Astoria, your hand is shaking," he added softly, his brown eyes intently focused on her. Indeed, her hand _was_ shaking; she closed her hand into a fist and shoved the guilty evidence under the table. "Is everything alright?"

"No," the word fell from her mouth. She quickly added, "Drop it, Summerby." She could see him study her out of the corner of her eyes for a moment before he sighed and opened his book. They continued in silence.

* * *

The whispers started in the first week of February. Draco thought it was a ridiculous, ludicrous, and preposterous rumor, but the students seemed to gobble it up. Everyone was very careful not to let teachers overhear it. The last thing they needed was to hand over their savior to the Carrows.

No, it was not The-Boy-Who-Would-Not-Fucking-Die (also known as "Potter"). They called the student "The Master of Memory". Draco admitted it had a ring to it if there was any possibility that the rumor was true.

The students of Hogwarts were saying that there was a Slytherin that had been cleaning up the Carrows dirty work by wiping the memories of students who were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, sparing them from ever having to relive the experience inside their head. They called it "an act of mercy"; even more than that, "A quiet deed of defiance." It seemed to give the poor, deluded Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws the wrong idea: that there was a Slytherin on their side. He laughed about it quite a bit to himself until Nott caught his sneering grin.

"You do not believe it, Malfoy?"

"Why should I?" he nearly laughed.

"Why should you not?" Nott innocently retorted and sauntered away. It was an excellent and terrible question. Suddenly, the lines began to blur.

* * *

"Well, it is you, is it not, Astoria?" Theo inquired one day. She did not dare to respond. "Of course it is you," he said more softly. "You hate the Carrows. And you are quite proficient in Memory Charms," he mused. "No matter," he waved his hand flippantly. "The only problem is going to be keeping this a secret."

"How?" she whispered.

"Why are you digging yourself a hole, Astoria?" Theo asked, ignoring her question. "I ask you to keep your head down and you go off and do this." She hardly knew what to say.

"I hate them so much," she whispered. "Once I started, I could not stop."

"But you messed up."

"Longbottom," Astoria said simply. Then, she thoughtfully added as a sort of excuse, "He begged me not to."

"Longbottom, eh?" Theo mused aloud. "Let us hope he keeps this to himself. In the meanwhile, I think it is best that we focus on damage control and preventative measures."

"How?" she whispered again, beginning to feel like a broken record.

"Well, if Snape marched up to you right now and asked you if you knew anything about the shady 'Master of Memory' character, what would happen?" Astoria began to respond, but Theo cut her off. "The man is a skilled Legilimens, Astoria. Unless you learn Occlumency, you do not have a chance."

"How am I going to learn Occlumency?" she fiercely whispered.

"From Malfoy, naturally," Theo shrugged with a most wicked smile on his face. Astoria raised an eyebrow.

"Are you fucking shitting me?"

* * *

"Are you fucking shitting me?" Draco Malfoy hissed at Theodore Nott. The audacity! The impudence! Who was Nott to give him, Draco Lucius Malfoy, orders? Draco tried not to make a habit of swearing because there were many other more clever ways to be insulting and vulgar, but Nott's orders caught him so off-guard that the words tumbled from his mouth. At least they sounded quite scathing.

"Funny you should say that," Nott muttered and Draco waited for him to explain the joke he was inwardly laughing at, only to be left unsatisfied. "But no matter. You heard me quite right, Malfoy. Astoria needs Occlumency lessons."

"Why?"

"The reasons are not important," he said dismissively. Draco began to wonder why he had placed any power in Nott's hands in the first place. "But she needs them as soon as possible. She will come to you when she realizes that it is in everyone's best interest."

"I will not help Little Greengrass."

"You refuse, then?"

"I do not take orders from you, Nott," Draco hissed.

"Oh no, only from Father Dearest and the Dark Lord. Forgive me, Malfoy, I had forgotten," Nott sarcastically beguiled him with saccharine condescension. Draco began to walk away, tiring of Nott's insufferable attitude and his irreverent treatment of him. "You forget, Malfoy, that Astoria has dirt on all of us. If her secrets spill, yours will be close to follow. We cannot even begin to imagine what that pair of green eyes has seen." Draco's steps faltered as he considered this. Once again, he was between a rock and a hard place.

"So, Occlumency?" he asked lazily. Nott gave him a satisfied smile.

"She will come to you."

* * *

She told Theo Nott that he had gone completely mad if he thought that she would willingly allow Draco Malfoy, The Great Git, to meddle with her mind. There had to be some other way… which she informed Theo of, and then he proceeded to laugh at her.

"Alright, Astoria," he gave her a bemused smirk. "When you fail, go to Malfoy." She scathingly informed Theo that she would not fail and left the room. Of course, Theo was a sneaky bastard at times and turned out to be right.

She had been sitting in the library, minding her own business and doing her homework, when Fiona Davis, Tracey Davis' younger sister, sat down next to her. Astoria nodded to the Ravenclaw by way of a greeting and they studied in complete silence for a few minutes, huddled in a reclusive corner of the library. After five or so minutes, a piece of parchment slid across the table. Astoria glanced at it for a moment and her eyes flickered to Fiona, who looked at her for a fleeting second, glanced back at the parchment, and then returned to the book she was reading. Astoria looked at the parchment again.

_Neville would like to remind you that he knows._

Astoria frowned, unsure what to think. Had Fiona chosen a side? Did her sister know? Did Longbottom really know what she thought he knew? What did Longbottom want from her? Why was he using Fiona as a messenger?

_I do not know what you are talking about_, Astoria wrote, deciding to play it safe.

_He said you would say that. He told me to mention that he still sees the world in black and white_.

Astoria sucked in her breath. So he _did _remember what Astoria feared he would: he remembered _her_.

_Are you a messenger?_

_Yes, but __I know__, _she wrote. Astoria met eyes with the girl, who quickly added, _Only Neville and I know. The rest of the DA has been kept out of the loop._

_But there are whispers…_

_Inevitable,_ Fiona wrote. After careful consideration, Astoria printed her next question.

_Why you?_

_Because I am the only one who knows how Slytherins operate, considering my older sister is one. And because you and I occasionally study together._

It seemed simple enough to Astoria. _What do you want?_ she wrote, now rather angry.

_Neville and I will keep your secret as long as he is able to call in a favor._

_What sort of favor?_ Astoria asked skeptically, not liking the sound of this deal.

_Whatever Neville needs at the time_, was the response. Astoria sucked in her breath.

_And what if I refuse?_

_Then the secret is out._ The words looked so cold and angry on the parchment.

_You do realize_, Astoria wrote, trying to keep her hand from shaking with malice, _that if it comes out, I will probably be tortured to an inch of my life, _if_ I am lucky? Death Eaters do not take too kindly to traitors._

_I know_, Fiona wrote and there seemed to be sympathy in her words. _But this is war._

_Then you have chosen a side. _Astoria wrote it as a statement, not a question. There was a long pause before Fiona wrote again.

_Neville is a good leader, but he is wrong about one thing: the world isn't all black and white. And sometimes, it's not about sides. To each their own._

Astoria eyed Fiona carefully. She understood—she, a Ravenclaw, understood that there were things people did out of necessity to survive, that there was a grey area, and that the tight rope Astoria walked was precarious at best. Astoria at last nodded. The deal was made and Fiona tapped her wand on the parchment, which crumbled into a pile of dust. Astoria created a burst of air from her wand to scatter the dust, and the two continued to work in silence.

However, when Astoria left the library, she immediately sought out The Great Git.

"I need you to teach me Occlumency," she whispered to Malfoy when they were alone in the common room.

"I know," he whispered back, seeming rather disgruntled by the situation. Astoria was a bit surprised he did not put up a dramatic fuss. "6 AM Saturday, behind the Quidditch pitch." She nodded and he left.

Saturday morning, she stood before him with his wand inches from her nose.

"Close your mind," he said.

"What do you mean?" she tried to say, but before she could finish her sentence, she was four years old and petting the muzzle of a giant, grey, winged Granian horse by the name of Eyvindr.

* * *

It was a grey February morning. The fog had not cleared and created a haze low on the ground that was quite pleasant to walk through. Draco lived for days like this, when everything was so grey that he blended into his surroundings. The grass was wet with dew as he trudged across the grounds to give Little Greengrass Occlumency lessons. He was still a bit amazed with himself that he was actually following through with his promise. He suspected that he had never been quite this nice in his entire life, and even now he could excuse his niceness with selfish reason—after all, Nott was right that Little Greengrass was a liability who they had to remain accountable to: her actions directly affected their lives and visa versa. But even more, he was curious to see what went on in Little Greengrass' warped mind—or he suspected that she was every bit as fucked up as the rest of them.

She was there early, gazing at the mountains at the back of the school. She heard him approach and turned around to face him, bundled up in a thick robes that made her look tinier than ever.

"Greengrass."

"Malfoy," she said by way of greeting.

"Well, this is as unpleasant for me as it is for you."

"I could think of many synonyms for that word 'unpleasant' whose strength, I believe, would be more appropriate to this occasion," she quipped.

"Have you ever been told that you are quite the snob?" Draco smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. She blinked, which he took as a sign of being taken aback. Nonetheless, she retorted without missing a beat.

"Have you ever been told that you are an arrogant prick?" she asked. Draco pulled out his wand, twirling it threateningly.

"How much do you know about Occlumency, Greengrass?"

"Only what I have read in books. I have done some research in the library this week and I have found that most of the texts had rather vague instructions."

"You did not understand them?" he mockingly inquired, inwardly laughing at her suddenly flustered appearance.

"It was not a matter of understanding. It was a matter of elucidation," Little Greengrass hotly responded. "The texts were poorly written and not specific enough to satisfy my curiosity."

"Of course," Draco drawled. "Blame the books."

"Well, how did _you_ learn?" Little Greengrass asked huffily.

"From my dear Auntie Bellatrix," he said coldly, "with much practice and by experience, which is the only way to truly learn Occlumency. The silly books that you fill your juvenile mind with are useless." Little Greengrass clenched her jaw in indignation. Draco was possibly having too much fun making her angry.

"Alright. I am ready," she said once she had calmed herself, seeming to brace her body for some sort of impact. She looked so childish and young that Draco wanted to laugh aloud as he pointed his wand at her. He had not performed Legilimency much and hoped he would not fail. However, he remembered his dear Auntie Bellatrix and Severus Snape trying it on him and instinctively knew what he had to do.

His father said that to get the truth out of someone or to intimidate, all one had to do was look them directly in the eyes. Because he inherited his father's cool, grey eyes, this proved to be rather easy; Pansy told him that his piercing gaze could freeze a room. Additionally, his mother always said that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Legilimency was about penetrating the mind and the easiest way into the mind was by way of emotion. And Little Greengrass was secretly an emotional wreck.

For the first time ever, he looked at Little Greengrass… _really_ looked at her. Her eyes were the most fucking unnerving thing he had ever seen. They were the palest green, so light against her fair, dull skin and dark, flat hair and dark lashes. Her eyes were huge too, just looking at him and waiting for him to do something. Her face structure was unremarkable—really, she looked rather pinched, like she hadn't been eating well for months. She had thin lips and freckles on her nose. She was not ugly, but not really pretty by any means. His mother would have called her "plain," just to be nice. But Little Greengrass' eyes were something remarkable. Perhaps his mother was right: the Greengrass eyes never seem to hypno —_no._ She was Little Greengrass and she was a messed up little girl with _weird_ eyes—weird eyes that he had to look straight into to penetrate her mind.

"Close your mind," he said and before she could protest, he said "_Legilimens_" and he was four years old. Actually, he was not four years old, but she was four years old, but it was like he was her and he could feel all she felt and see, hear, touch, taste, and smell all that she could. It was as though he was trapped inside her body and one thing was for sure: Little Greengrass was in _amazement_...

...

_The winged horse was giant, like nothing she had seen before. It was giant and grey and the biggest and most beautiful thing she had seen in her entire life and Papa was quite pleased that she had won 150 Galleons off of the long-shot Granian horse that she had bet only five Galleons on. But that did not matter at all because the horse was so big and beautiful and when she looked into his big, dark eyes, she knew that the horse—Eyvindr—was going to win because nothing that wonderful could not win._

"_Not too close now," said Papa, but she did not care and crept closer and closer until the horse bent his head down. His head was almost as big as her entire body and he looked so soft, so she placed a hand on the horse and petted him. She leaned in closer and gently pulled the soft ear toward her._

"_Hello, Eyvindr," she whispered in the winged horse's ear. "I knew you would win."_

_..._

_She was five and she was running barefoot, the soft grass under her toes and the wind in her hair and the hill with the swing in sight. She ran because she was sad and angry and it was not fair that she could not be like Daphne._

_..._

_"Astoria, please sit up straight like your sister."_

_"Astoria, do you see Daphne asking such questions? Please desist."_

_"Your sister does not slide down the banister and neither should you."_

_"Astoria, may you please sit still and be good like Daphne?"_

_"Astoria, put your book away and go practice the piano so you will be as good as Daphne."_

_"Your sister managed to keep her dress clean. Why is yours covered in dirt?"_

_"Astoria, do not run through the house. Walk, like your sister."_

_"Astoria, for a moment, can you be a nice, good, and proper little girl?_

_..._

_Daphne's curls were perfect. Golden blonde, soft, shiny and bouncy—her mother could touch those curls all day. Astoria looked at herself in the mirror. Wide green eyes, face freckled and tanned skin from staying outside, and brown hair that laid limp, with the exception of her fringe, which had to be tamed with a dousing of water._

_"Daphne, darling, you look like an angel," her mother said, at last putting the final touches on smiley Daphne's hair. Her mother came over to her, stroked her dark hair, pinned her fringe back with a fancy clip, declared it "lovely" and left them to change into their ball dresses._

_..._

_Papa was home. She could hear the door open because Papa always liked to Apparate to the edge of grounds and then walk home on a nice day because he liked the wonderful green grass of the Greengrass Estate as she did. The door opened and she dashed out of her room, slid down the banister, and ran shouting into his arms. He was the best man in the entire world and he smelled like old books and cigar smoke and made her feel so happy._

_"Papa! Papa!" she joyously cried into his pant leg._

_"Astoria! Astoria!" he called back before pulling her up so her feet were on top of his and then he walked and spun her around and it was the best part of the day._

_..._

_"Papa! Papa!"_

_"Astoria! Astoria!"_

_"I am so glad you are home!" She was lifted onto Papa's hip. "I so very badly wanted to read a book in the library, but Mummy made me practice dancing. Can we do a puzzle together and read tonight? I would like it very much."_

_"Of course, luv. Anything for my little girl."_

_..._

_Her fingers would never run across the piano keys as nice as Daphne's did. She tried so hard but she became nervous from everyone watching and listening that her fingers could help but stumble. At last, with tears blurring her vision, she banged her hand against the piano in frustration and ran out from the room and then out of the house, slamming the door behind her as she took off for the tree with the swing._

_..._

_"It is time to go home, Astoria."_

_"I do not want to go home, Papa," she responded sullenly, her legs dangling off the swing._

_"Your mother is very sad."_

_"_I_ am very sad."_

_"Why are you sad?"_

_"Because I am very bad at being a good little girl." Papa found this funny and chuckled._

_"Even if that was true, I would not have you change for all the winged horses in the world."_

_"That is a lot of horses, Papa."_

_"I know, luv. Let's go home."_

_..._

_"Why are they yelling about you?"_

_"Why are you hiding here?" was the quiet response._

_"Because I do not want you to go, Uncle Alastair," she whispered, peering up at the lanky, green-eyed man before her._

_"These are complicated adult matters, Tori," he tried to explain, rubbing his forehead._

_"Papa says that sometimes adults do very silly things," she responded, making the man wryly grinned. "Besides, if you go, who will do puzzles with me and tell me riddles and answer all my questions?"_

_"Your papa will."_

_"Papa is often tired after he is home from work and Mummy says I need to learn to hold my tongue. Who shall I have on my side, then?" she sorrowfully inquired. "Uncle Alastair, you cannot just leave me…" she began to cry. But he did leave, right then and there. He kissed her forehead and walked out the door without another word._

_..._

"So that was the man at the platform?" Draco asked, at last recognizing the familiar face. "That man was your uncle?" Little Greengrass could not even look up at him or respond. She had fallen to her knees, shaken, pale, and panting. "Was he disowned?"

"None of your business," Little Greengrass finally managed to hiss.

"Ah, struck a nerve there, did I not? Well, that will hardly help things. Are you even going to try stopping me, Little Greengrass?" Draco asked.

"I—I do not even know how!"

"Close your mind."

"I do not even know what that means!" she protested, angry tears forming in her eyes. Merlin, was she going to start _crying_ on him? He did _not_ volunteer for waterworks.

"Close your mind. Detach yourself from the world," he tried to explain, but really, he wanted to see what Little Greengrass would reveal next. "Pull yourself together, Greengrass and try to push me out of your mind. _Legilimens_."

...

_"I love you, Tori. You are the best sister in the world."_

_"I love you too, Daph." And she meant it._

_..._

_Lightning lit up the window and the thunder boomed over the sound of her door creaking open._

_"Tori?" Daphne whispered in the dark. She stirred and rolled over. "Can I sleep with you?"_

_"Why?" she asked as another bolt of lightning lit up the room. She could see her sister's eyes widen with fear. The thunder made the windows rattle and Daphne skittered over to her bed and leapt under the covers._

_"Because it's scary," Daphne muttered._

_"I'm not sure how to make it less scary… maybe try telling yourself that Merlin is playing Exploding Snap or something."_

_"So I can stay here?" Daphne asked anxiously._

_"Yes."_

_"Good." Within minutes, Daphne's breathing became deep and even. Not long after, she fell asleep admiring the way that Daphne's blonde hair shone like gold in the glow of the lightning._

_..._

_Mummy was really mad at her for running in the house and knocking over the ugly vase. Mummy did not even like the vase, so she thought she was doing Mummy a favor, but apparently not. So, she was hiding in the cabinet under the sink in the back of the cellar until Papa came home and she could have someone on her side._

_"Mummy is really mad," whispered a voice in the dark._

_"I know, Daph."_

_"You shouldn't be hiding down here."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I love you and I want you to come upstairs so I won't be alone."_

_"Alright." She got out of the cabinet. She could suffer the consequences if Daph would stay with her._

_..._

_"I do not know what to do with her, Thomas."_

_"She is precocious, that is all, Calliope."_

_"Will she grow out of it?"_

_"I reckon not, and if she does, I will never forgive her."_

_"Thomas! You are setting her up to be ostracized!"_

_"Just humor the girl. It is difficult to be as bright as ten-year-olds when you are only seven. She is not made of sugar and spice like Daphne."_

_"We cannot let her just recklessly run her mouth off, nor can we fill her mind with silly notions."_

_"Daphne's mind is filled with as many silly notions as Astoria's is. Let little girls be little girls. Astoria just needs to know her limits. It would not hurt for her to have an outlet. I was thinking horseback riding lessons."_

_They heard her squeal in delight from her hiding spot at the top of the staircase and told her to go to bed, but she did not sleep a wink that night._

_..._

_It was like flying. The horse was cantering now and her body instinctively knew what to do, rocking with the movement of the horse._

_When she jumped, her heart fluttered as the pony neatly picked up its hooves over the elevated pole. It was the easiest, most natural thing and she knew that Mummy was on the sidelines, closing her eyes in fear._

_..._

_The blue ribbons lined her wall. Finally, she was better at something than Daphne. And Mummy seemed happy, even though she was always scared that she was going to die._

_..._

_The pony caught his hoof on the jump and she was pitched over his neck and fell with a sickening crack onto the dust. Her arm hurt but she picked herself up and began to dust herself off as her mother and the trainer ran toward her._

_"Mummy, my arm hurts." It was odd that her mother was crying more than she was._

_..._

_"You do not have to ride anymore if you are afraid."_

_"But I am not afraid, Mummy. I am not afraid of anything."_

_..._

_She giggled at a joke that she was not supposed to be giggling about. She had been hiding in her father's study while he had some guests over and they were so much more interesting than her mother and sister talking with the other women. She faked a stomachache to escape and hid under the cart that the House Elf, Dop, pushed into the study_ _to hear the men's conversation._

_"Well, look what the House Elf dragged in," her father said with an amused glint in his olive green eyes. "Everyone, this is my youngest, Astoria. Say hello, luv." She was lifted into his arms._

_"Hello gentlemen," she said shyly._

"_What were you giggling about, luv?"_

"_That sir's statement regarding the statue that is being vandalized. You cannot put a fence around a statue that is supposed to represent freedom. That's ironic or perhaps plain silly, I suppose." All the men laughed uproariously and she smiled a really big smile. "And sir, I would not hit the four ball," Astoria pointed at the billiard table. "You have a much better angle at the two ball and then you may block your opponent's next move." All the men adored her and she sat on her father's lap prattling away until her mother burst in the room demanding to know if her father had seen her._

_..._

_She did not care if she was supposed to be nice to Draco Malfoy. He was a mean boy._

_"This is not a book for little girls like you."_

_"But Papa says that all books are for little boys _and_ girls! I just want to read it! I promise I will give it right back!"_

_"No, it is my book!" Astoria scowled and tried to grab the book, but just then her mother and Mrs. Malfoy walked in._

_"Astoria! That is uncalled for!"_

_"He would not share! I wanted to read his book and he says that it is a book for little boys, not little girls and that is a lie and lying is a very naughty thing to do!" She thought it sounded quite convincing. Her mother looked at the title of the book and flipped through the pages._

_"This looks like a challenging book," he mother said simply._

_"Well, I am not stupid!" Astoria cried out, tears now brimming in her eyes. "I can read tricky books like Daphne reads! It is not fair!"_

_"Astoria, that is enough. We are among company and you are embarrassing yourself. Go play outside," her mother sighed, suddenly looking very tired._

_"I am not stupid," she repeated and ran outside._

_..._

_Who keeps a peacock in their garden anyway? The Malfoys were weird._

_..._

Draco emerged from Little Greengrass' mind laughing—really laughing, all the way from deep in his stomach, the sort of laugh he had not had in years. And Little Greengrass looked perplexed, peeved, and perturbed all at the same time. "You remember me? What are you, some sort of pathetic fan girl, Greengrass?"

"Obviously quite the opposite!" she shouted indignantly. "_Damn you_. Who are _you_ to go sifting through my memories for shits and giggles?"

"Well, my name is Draco Malfoy—" he snidely began.

"Come off it!" she shouted. "Fuck this. I will figure it out on my own."

"Go ahead," Draco shrugged, "if you feel like failing."

"I do not trust you," she glared at him.

"Well, you are going to have to," he glared back at her. "And _Merlin_, did your mother ever teach you it was not polite for a lady to curse?"

"Evidently I missed that lesson," Little Greengrass churlishly retorted. They were silent for a moment.

"Ready?"

"No."

"_Legilimens._"

...

_Daphne was dancing around the room with a letter in her hands._

_"Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Mummy, Papa, I am going to Hogwarts!"_

_She glared at Daphne with envy, shoving her cake away after the sudden loss of her appetite. She wanted to go to Hogwarts too. _

_..._

_"You promise to write?" she asked._

_"Of course," Daphne airily replied._

_"Every week?" she squeaked._

_"Oh Tori, I'm going to be so busy learning magic every day and meeting so many new people, I hardly know if I'll have time to write to you every single week!" Daphne chirped before looking at her younger sister. "Don't be sad, Tori! I may not get to write every week, but I'll be thinking of you every single day!"_

_"Do you have to go?"_

_"Yes!" Daphne laughed. "Don't worry, I'll be home for the Christmas holidays before you even know it. And soon enough, you'll be getting your letter too!"_

_..._

_It was quiet in the house without Daphne. Mummy was sad a lot of the time._

_"Mummy, Daph is happy at Hogwarts. Why are you not happy?" Her beautiful mother, with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes, glanced at her youngest daughter._

_"Astoria, darling, do come here and sit with me. That would make Mummy very happy." She crept across the sitting room and curled up next to Mummy, not moving a muscle as Mummy held her and silently cried._

_..._

_"Astoria, please come back and continue telling me about your book," Mummy begged._

_"Why," she asked coolly, "when you think it is boring?"_

_"That is not true, darling," Mummy assured her. "Come and sit down."_

_"I do not like the same things that you and Daphne like," she announced._

_"Please come back and sit down," her mother sighed. She obeyed and precariously perched herself on the edge of the couch. "I am listening very carefully now. Do continue."_

_..._

_"Sometimes, I wish she was just a silly, empty-headed darling, Thomas."_

_"Calliope, luv, Astoria is not made of the same material as Daphne."_

_"Daphne is neither silly nor empty-headed."_

_"I know that, luv. I am simply saying that our daughters could not be more opposite."_

_"I do try and appreciate her for what she is worth, but I cannot help but fear that by doing so, I am setting her up to be the black sheep of the family."_

_"She is a smart girl," said her father, his eyes flicking up to where she hid behind the banister. "I am sure Astoria will figure it out."_

_..._

_"It is the only thing I have ever really wanted! Please Papa, I am _begging_ you!"_

_"It is quite silly to get you a horse, Tori," said her father. "You are going to go off to school soon and then what? Who will ride and take care of it?"_

_"We can hire someone to look after it during school, but I will ride it every single day and take care of it when I am home on holidays and all through summer."_

_"It is simply not practical."_

_"Daphne gets everything she wants and I have never asked for anything else besides books. It is not fair!" she clenched her hands in ire._

_"A horse is a big responsibility, Astoria. I know it seems unfair, but I am doing this for a reason. This will be the one thing I will deny you because I know that you are not yet ready for a horse. You will get a horse one day, but I want you to earn it." _

_..._

_Daphne did not want her annoying her friends, who had come over for a few days in the summer. She escaped to the barn and rode all day, or took a book out to the grounds. It was quiet out there. Besides, she did not much like Daphne's friends. They walked around like there was something smelly in the room with their noses stuck up in the air._

_..._

_"Dear Miss Astoria Greengrass: We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_

_It was the best day ever._

_..._

_"Must you grow up?" her father asked._

_"You said that everyone must grow up at some time or another, Papa." He laughed his deep, rich, wonderful laugh that made her giggle and smile broadly._

_"What will I do without you around?" he tucked her hair behind her ear. She shrugged._

_"I promise to write every week," she solemnly swore._

_"No, you just promise me that you will make lots of friends and learn many new things—you have the potential to be the brightest witch in your year and I do not want you to hold back," her father tapped her forehead. She released another peal of giggles and flung her arms around her father._

_"I will miss you so much, Papa."_

_..._

_"But why can I not sit with you on the Hogwarts Express?"_

_"Because it is time you made your own friends, Tori."_

_"But _you_ are my friend, Daph."_

_"I am your _sister_," Daphne corrected her with a sweet smile. "You need friends your own age. Just be nice and charming and remember all of Mummy's etiquette lessons and you'll be just fine."_

_"But what if they do not like me?"_

_"What are you so worried about?" Daphne propped her hands on her hips. After all, she was a teenager now._

_"What if I am not Sorted into Slytherin?"_

_"You will be a Slytherin," Daphne assured her. "The only other House you have a chance of getting Sorted into is Ravenclaw and you are too much like Father to be a Ravenclaw." Daphne saw she was unconvinced. "Look, Tori, everything is going to be just fine. Just don't be a know-it-all snob and go talk to people." And at that, Daphne flitted off._

_When the cabin was filled with three other loud, pretty girls (whose names were Lindsay, Annie, and Mel), Astoria felt her mouth go dry and just tried to smile and nod. They were all Sorted into Slytherin and were best friends. Sort of._

_..._

_She quickly discovered that if she sat really still in the corner of the common room, people forgot she was even there and had some very interesting things to say. She continued to sit there knowing that one day, something she would overhear would come quite handy._

_..._

_Her mother laughed._

_"I am so glad, darling, that you like school so much. But do tell me about your new friends." She paused for a moment._

_"Well, my friends are Lindsay, Annie, and Mel. They are Slytherins in my year."_

_"Are they nice?" She nodded. "That is good, darling." She shoved a piece of lamb in her mouth to avoid any elaboration._

_Neither she nor Daphne thought about mentioning the Dementors on the Hogwarts Express or the ones that guarded the school. Sirius Black was on the loose and she had checked and saw that Draco Malfoy's mother's father's sister's son (whatever that relation was… perhaps first cousins once removed?) was Sirius Black. But she did not care if Sirius Black got to Malfoy because he was such a great git to that wonderful hippogriff, Buckbeak. Everyone knows you cannot be full of yourself and expect to gain a hippogriff's respect._

_..._

_Harry Potter got a Firebolt. Even Malfoy was jealous. She thought she would like to learn to fly, someday, if Mother continued to evade her requests to go to the barn for horseback riding._

_..._

_"Did you hear? That stupid Mudblood Granger hit Draco Malfoy!" All the other girls seemed really worried, but she erupted in peals of laughter. Even hours later she was giggling to herself._

_..._

"Really, Greengrass? Really?" Draco dryly muttered.

"I would not be surprised at all if you deserved it," Little Greengrass crossed her arms. Draco ground his teeth. "Can you just wait—?"

"_Legilimens_."

...

_Slytherin lost the Quidditch Cup. Everyone was in a terrible mood, especially Malfoy. She thought that he really needed to resign himself to the fact that Potter was a better Seeker than him. There would certainly be fewer first years in tears of terror._

_..._

_Sirius Black disappeared and along with the wrongfully sentenced hippogriff, Buckbeak. Although she was not sure why, she had a feeling that everything had been set right._

_..._

_"You may only go to the barn three days a week."_

_"Then it is only fair, Mother, if Daphne goes over to friend's houses at the most three days a week," she crossed her arms indignantly._

_"Why do you not have any of your friends come over here?"_

_"I see them from September to June, Mother. May I not have July and August to myself?" she asked in exasperation before storming out of the house._

_..._

_"Well, are you glad now that you did not take Astoria to the Quidditch World Cup?" her mother asked her father during the summer before her second year. He looked so tired from her hiding spot behind the banister._

_"They are back, Calliope. They are back."_

_..._

_She did not think it was fair that Harry Potter cheated and had his name picked out of the Goblet of Fire. He was already famous; he should have let someone else have a turn. She even consigned to wear a "Potter Stinks!" badge._

_..._

_Professor Mad-Eye Moody was bloody mad. He actually killed a spider in front of the class. She had a weird feeling about him. Despite this, she laughed hysterically when he turned that great git Malfoy into a ferret. She thought the resemblance was wildly accurate._

_..._

_The dragons were almost as beautiful as winged-horses. She did not blink through the entire first match._

_..._

_Her stomach felt weird whenever any of the Durmstrang or Beauxbaton boys talked to her. She could not understand half of what they were saying through their thick accents but that did not stop her from smiling for some reason._

_..._

_Daphne looked stunning in her Yule Ball gown._

_"It's a shame that no one asked you, Tori."_

_"I would not have had that much fun anyway," she lied._

_..._

_Apparently Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures professor, was half-giant. She wondered how it was not so obvious to everyone else._

_..._

_Cedric Diggory was dead. Professor Mad-Eye Moody was actually Barty Crouch, Jr., convicted Death Eater. Harry Potter said that the Dark Lord was back. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, said He was not. She hardly knew what to think anymore._

_Cedric Diggory was dead, dead at seventeen. How could that ever make sense? What was happening with the world? And what was death, anyway?_

_..._

"What an adorable sight: thirteen-year-old Little Greengrass in the middle of an existential crisis," Draco drawled. "How endearing."

"You are not teaching me anything!"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself, Greengrass? _Close your mind_."

"And how many times must I repeat myself, Malfoy? _What do you mean, 'close your mind'_?"

"Like I said before," Draco released an aggravated sigh, "you must detach yourself from the world."

"And like I said before, _what does that mean?_"

"For someone who thinks so highly of their intelligence, you are fairly dim, Greengrass."

"Speaking of things being dim, is it hard to see with your head stuck so far up your arse, Malfoy?" she innocently inquired, her green eyes looking up at him.

"_Legilimens_."


	9. Chapter 7: The Master of Memory, Part 2

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! I've been super busy with school, field hockey, and the newspaper, so I've been utterly swamped. However, last chapter got a ton of positive feedback, so I was really exciting about posting the second part of this chapter. Chapter 8 is almost done and I'm still wrestling how I want Chapter 9 to go, but I'm quite a few pages into it. So, there is hope. In the meanwhile, enjoy reading the chapter and don't forget to review at the end!_

* * *

_**In Part 1 of Chapter 7: The Master of Memory...**_

Astoria suspects that Theo is up to something with her, but she does not know what. It doesn't help that she now has the Carrows and Longbottom watching her every move too.

Draco doesn't think that the 'Master of Memory' rumor could possibly true until Theo Nott confuses him. And then makes him teach Little Greengrass Occlumency lessons for some obscure reason... the elusive bastard.

Astoria refuses to let Malfoy into her head until she realizes it is absolutely necessary due to a little incident in the library. Suddenly, she owes Longbottom a favor and Fiona Davis, the younger sister of the half-blood Slytherin Tracey Davis, knows about Astoria's slip-up with Longbottom.

Draco and Astoria meet on a grey early February morning for Occlumency lessons. Draco thinks she has hypnotizing, no, _weird_ eyes. Yes, weird.

And the rest is all just a memory.

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 7: The Master of Memory_

"What an adorable sight: thirteen-year-old Little Greengrass in the middle of an existential crisis," Draco drawled. "How endearing."

"You are not teaching me anything!"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself, Greengrass? _Close your mind_."

"And how many times must I repeat myself, Malfoy? _What do you mean, 'close your mind'_?"

"Like I said before," Draco released an aggravated sigh, "you must detach yourself from the world."

"And like I said before, _what does that mean?_"

"For someone who thinks so highly of their intelligence, you are fairly dim, Greengrass."

"Speaking of things being dim, is it hard to see with your head stuck so far up your arse, Malfoy?" she innocently inquired, her green eyes looking up at him.

"_Legilimens_."

...

_"They are called the Order of the Phoenix," whispered Malfoy (who was excessively enjoying his powers as a prefect) at the beginning of her third year. "And they're on the old coot's side. A pathetic lot, really. Nothing compared to the power of the Dark Lord." She sat in the corner of the Slytherin common room and shivered, even though the fire was quite warm._

_..._

_To say that Professor Dolores Umbridge, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, had control issues was a vast understatement. She wished that Professor Lupin could teach them again._

_..._

_She heard Potter, Granger, and Weasley whispering something about 'Dumbledore's Army' and Potter teaching others how to defend themselves. She thought that the skills would be useful, but it would be unwise to consort with them. She did, however, think they were rather brave._

_..._

_Fred and George Weasley revolted against Umbridge's tyranny! She had not laughed so hard since Malfoy was turned into a ferret. _

_She concluded that the swamp was a lovely addition to the castle's décor._

_..._

_He was back. The Dark Lord was really back this time. She had never seen her father looking so old and tired before. It was the summer before her fourth year and when she arrived home from King's Cross Station, she curled up next to him on a sofa and did not move for hours._

_..._

"_A kind word at gatherings would not be too much to ask, Thomas. She is bright and knows when she is being unduly neglected. She simply can hide it well."_

_"Of course Astoria can."_

_"I only want her to reach her absolute potential. It does not help that you keep her in the dark and make her out to be the unremarkable black sheep of the family!"_

_"It is best if she is viewed as such, Calliope," her father sighed._

_"And how will that do any good, Thomas?" was her mother's shrill response. What her father said next made created a dead silence._

"_He is recruiting."_

_"You mean…?"_

_"It is different this time around." Her mother paced._

_"There will come a time for us all to choose a side; you cannot expect them to be immune to all repercussions just because they are young! Just look at the young Malfoy boy…"_

_"He, I am sure, will find it out on his own soon enough," her father sighed sorrowfully. "Daphne has a chance of gliding through this, but Astoria will get tangled. I refuse to let them use her," her father's voice trembled in anger. "Oh, think about it, Calliope: a bright girl, Pureblood, quiet, talented—she is the perfect set of eyes to have inside Hogwarts. She can blend in and pick up the oddest things. In fact… Astoria, go to bed," her father sighed, knowing that she was spying at the top of the staircase. She crept back into her bedroom and slipped under the covers, but all sleep was in vain._

_..._

_She spent the next day on the swing far away from the house. Her father did not find her until evening and she hardly recognized the passage of time._

_"What must I do?" she asked her father._

_"I will not lie to you, Astoria: you have the power to save or damn us all. But I am not going to ask you to do that. I am asking you to keep your head down: barely pass your classes, do not talk too much to your classmates, and keep your nose out of everyone's business. But mostly, watch over Daphne."_

_"I am fourteen, Papa," she whispered._

_"Your mother and I are going to go abroad while you are at school," he plowed on. "It is best if we are not in England. You can do what I ask of you, yes? You can take care of the family." It was a statement, not a question._

_"I am fourteen, Papa," she repeated, feeling tears prick her eyes. Green eyes met green eyes as they were silent for a moment, Astoria's swing gently swaying and her father standing in front of her._

_"I know," was her father's choked reply as he leaned against the tree for support. "I know."_

_..._

_She followed Annie, Mel, and Lindsay on the Hogwarts Express because they would not leave her alone with her book and insisted that she join them, saying that she needed "to get out more often." The trio of giggling girls encountered Carl Warrington, the apparently "hunky" Slytherin seventh year and Chaser on the Quidditch team. They tried to engage him in conversation as she leaned against the wall of the train, her eyes fixed on her book._

_"And who is your friend?" he asked with jerk of his head, causing Astoria to look up._

_"Astoria Greengrass," she responded with a bored air before returning her glance to the page she was on._

_"And what are you reading?" he asked, ignoring the three other girls, much to their chagrin._

_"It is called a 'book,' Warrington," she quipped, causing him to laugh._

_"You know my name?" he took a step toward her, leaving the three other Slytherin girls with their jaws unhinged._

_"Do not feel special. I know a lot of things about a lot of people," she replied coolly._

_"Like?" She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, making it quite clear he was not going to get anything out of her. "Well, Miss Greengrass, I don't know much about you. And I think I would like to remedy that."_

_"Such a shame," she said, finally looking up at him. He was rather handsome. "But I am too busy."_

_"A shame indeed," he said in what the girls would have called a "smoldering" voice. He tucked a strand of hair away from her face. "You should wear your hair back," he smiled, "because you have the most beautiful eyes." She gulped. "I do hope to see you around, Miss Astoria Greengrass," he said, kissing her hand and flashing a grin over his shoulder as he walked away. Lindsay, Annie, and Mel proceeded to squeal and she told them to shut the bloody hell up. They were not 'friends' much longer after that._

_..._

_Carl Warrington was the biggest arsehole she had ever met! She finally worked up the courage to approach him—ignoring the nagging voice of her father in the back of her head—and tried talking to him during lunch, but he pretended like he did not know who she was and all his friends laughed at her._

_The next day, Warrington took a splendid spill in the middle of the hallway, sending his book bag tumbling down the stairs. The next day he spontaneous erupted in rather painful boils. The next day his hair was pink._

_It was her turn to laugh._

_..._

"That was you?" Draco asked incredulously, although rather impressed. Little Greengrass shrugged before demanding to know what he meant by 'detaching yourself from the world.' "For a bloody second of your life, Greengrass, stop caring. Now, let us try again. _Legilimens_."

...

_Professor Snape was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She wondered if they would actually learn something worthwhile._

_Professor Horace Slughorn, the new Potions teachers, was trying to make students into collectibles. He had been begging Zabini to have tea with him for weeks._

_..._

_"Never date a Slytherin," Daphne said. "They are always trouble, Tori."_

_"But you will date anyone."_

_"Not Slytherins," Daphne shook her head. "Honestly, who would I date? Pansy is with Draco, Theo is very reclusive and I'm pretty sure he fancies someone else, and Vincent and Gregory are really not too easy on the eyes. And that leaves Blaise Zabini, womanizer extraordinaire."_

_"Well, you are apparently quite the heart breaker yourself," she said with an amused half-smile._

_"I can't help it if blokes fall in love with me!" Daphne sighed dramatically. "It's not like I encourage it," she tossed her golden locks over her shoulder and gave a charming smile._

_"Of course not, Daph," she said with hidden sarcasm._

_"Just remember: never date a Slytherin," Daphne repeated with a wagging finger._

_..._

_Draco Malfoy had taken the Dark Mark. The tattoo was terribly sinister and dark against the pale skin of his left forearm. He was only sixteen._

_..._

_"Don't you think that Draco is acting weird?" Daphne asked._

_"I do not keep track of Malfoy's behavior," she sighed, but she had—it was impossible not to. He seemed paler and skinnier than ever, always anxious and neglectful of Quidditch and prefect duties. He was a ghost of his former self._

_"It seems like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. It's really sad and Pansy doesn't know how to help him because he pushes away everyone…" She stopped listening and thought of the Mark on his arm—it was the most horrifying piece of artwork she had ever seen marrying human flesh._

_..._

_What was going on behind those grey eyes? Malfoy was angry at everyone, even at Snape, who was the one person who wanted to help him. He was growing rather paranoid, muttering something about how his former House Elf was following him._

_..._

_Malfoy was standing in the seventh floor corridor and then gone the next time she looked. She passed by the tapestry numerous times, quite confused where he had disappeared._

_..._

_She went into the girl's bathroom that Moaning Myrtle used to occupy and there was blood everywhere. She stood looking at it in horror and fascination until Snape told her to leave and tell no one what she saw._

_..._

_Dumbledore was dead. Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape were on the run. Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts._

_No one was safe anymore._

...

Draco quietly exited her mind. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do or say. She had seen so much, and this was only the tip of the iceberg. If he went digging, only Merlin knew what he would find…

"Enough," she stuttered. "You have had your fun unraveling me, but there is little else for you to sift through. Tell me how to close my mind." Her tone was straightforward and Draco had satisfied his curiosity. Seeing himself through her eyes made him feel rather dismal for some reason.

"You have to control your emotions. Any loose emotion is the easiest way into a person's mind because one can grab onto it and be pulled in. So, it is vital that you calm yourself and control your emotions," he at last explained. Little Greengrass looked at him intently, eager to find out more. "That is how you close your mind: through apathy. There are two ways to hinder someone using Legilimency against you: either you can leave your mind completely empty or only allow access to the most mundane or contradictory thoughts, emotions, or memories. Is that sufficiently clarifying?"

"Certainly."

"I will give you a moment to gather yourself," he said softly.

"Thank you," she responded, as much confused by his generosity as he was. There was a moment of silence before she looked up at him. "I am ready."

"_Legilimens…_"

_..._

_"Drop it, Tori. I asked you to not meddle."_

_"I am not meddling, I am merely curious!"_

_"Do not get near the Malfoys, least of all the Malfoy boy," ordered her father. "You cannot trust anyone anymore."_

...

"_You can get yourself to the train station alright?" her father asked._

_"Where are you going?" she asked, feeling that familiar sentiment of paranoia and loneliness creep back upon her._

_"Croatia."_

_"You just got back from Belarus a few weeks ago!" she protested._

_"Tori, you know what we must do."_

_"What if you leave and you cannot come back?"_

_"I will do everything in my power to come back. I have two very good reasons," her father said, kissing her forehead. He then went to kiss Daphne, and Thomas and Calliope Greengrass walked out the front door, never to be seen again._

...

Draco was starting to feel guilty for seeing things that Greengrass had not wanted anyone to know of.

"Perhaps we ought to continue another day," he said slowly.

"No," she said firmly, her green eyes flashing. "I need to learn _now_."

"Greengrass…"

"Malfoy, just give me a bloody minute." He shrugged, once again peeved by her. Yet after that minute, he was in her mind again.

_..._

_"We cannot afford to fold her in."_

_"She knows too much."_

_"That can be remedied."_

_"It is too late. Astoria Greengrass, you're in."_

_Fuck fuck fucking shit fucking hell shit fuck fuck fuck Merlin damn it CRAP._

_..._

_"How was your day?" asked Alec Summerby, her Dart Arts partner. The Hufflepuff was annoyingly chipper._

_"Fine, Summerby, but what did I say about the incessant personal questions?"_

_"That they should 'desist,'" he grinned. "But that was not a personal question, it was simply common courtesy. I am glad that your day is going well, Astoria."_

_"I said it was going 'fine,' not 'well.' There is a difference, you know."_

_"Want to explain the difference to me?"_

_"No. Shut up."_

_..._

Draco felt Little Greengrass give him a mental shove, but it was not hard enough. Nonetheless, he decided to give her a little break.

"Almost, not quite," he said and there was the slightest glimmer of triumph in her eyes.

"Again," she whispered, her voice full of determination.

...

_"Sometimes I feel like we are so concerned about surviving that we forget about living," Luna mused aloud. "And it is shame, really, because we are so young. I am glad that you cannot see the thestrals, Astoria. Although, I think that even if you could see them, you would still like them. They are creatures that prefer to stay in the dark, even if they are actually quite nice. I believe you would understand that tendency."_

_..._

"_No, I honestly do not know, please, please, __no!__" Her pleading for a respite turned into screams as the curse once again hit her. The spell seemed to grow in intensity, or perhaps it was just more prolonged. It had reached her head, though, disallowing all coherent thoughts and amplifying her nerves, which reeked of pure pain. There was nothing but pain—the floor was gone, as was time, any morsel of cunning, and any scrap of hope. She screamed so long that she blacked out for a moment and when she woke up, she had to remind herself how to breathe. It was absurd in the most refined sense of the word; the pain was incoherent and senseless._

_..._

She shoved him from her mind more forcefully this time and Draco stumbled backward, now out of breath himself. He had felt only a scrap of what it was like to be under the Cruciatus Curse and it made him quite nearly sick to his stomach.

"Again, Malfoy."

"Merlin, just me a bloody second, Greengrass."

"I said again!" she shrieked.

...

"_You have done all this to protect your family?" She nodded, curling herself up in a tighter ball. "Do the bruises still hurt?"_

"_How did you recognize them?" she asked curiously, glancing down at the green spots on her chest where the Cruciatus Curse hit her. Her uncle shook his head, refusing to answer. They remained in the dark in silence for a few moments._

"_Astoria, please come out." After a few seconds, she slowly scooted out of the crawl space and nearly fell when her legs gave out underneath her as she tried to stand. Her uncle caught her and hoisted her up. The familiar presence, the memorable smell, and the strong chest reminded her too much of her father and she clutched his shirt before finally burying her head in his chest and releasing a sob. Her uncle cradled her and sat down with her curled up on his lap like a toddler. There, she screamed and cried and sobbed that it was not fair until she had no more tears to offer._

_..._

_His eyes were alarmed and grey, alarmingly grey, so terribly cold and yet so concerned as he held her arm, his thumb trailing over the skin of the underside of her left forearm. He sighed in relief and she shivered, pulling her arm away from him once he had let her go. He had looked at her so oddly, like he…_

_Nothing. Nothing. Nothing._

_..._

Her mind was empty. Blank. Little Greengrass had done it. She had at last learned to close her mind. Draco thought it odd that it was that particular memory, out of all the ones she revealed to him, that she finally succeeded in locking him out of her mind. She looked at him with coldness and apathy.

"Try me," she said, her voice void of all emotion. And he did try, only to have nothing.

"Well, it appears as though you have finally mastered Occlumency. Do you feel that tingle at the base of your neck?" She nodded her head. "That is how you know if someone is trying to use Legilimency against you." Little Greengrass straightened herself up.

"What time is it?"

"Seven."

"It has only been an hour?" she asked incredulously. "I feel like it has been years," she murmured. There was a beat of silence. "It is still quite grey out here." Draco nodded his head once. "Well, thank you for the lesson," she said and turned around to walk away. "Oh," she seemed to remember something and turned around. "During your 'supplementary lessons,' you do not really need to _want_ them to hurt. You just have to _need_ them to hurt. And the Carrows like it if you mix things up. The Cruciatus can bore them sometimes." The advice was vague, but the message was clear.

"Why are you telling me this?" Draco asked, glancing around to make sure no one was there.

"Because your bitch of a girlfriend seems to think that you need some help getting on the Carrows' good side and I am practically their pet," she spat.

"Pansy…?"

"Yes, she is a pernicious, pug-faced piece of shit, you know that?"

"Why does she think I need help?" he asked, ignoring the finely alliterated jab at his ex-girlfriend.

"Because you are not the same person you used to be, Malfoy," Little Greengrass airily replied. "Most people eventually grow out of being a bully. Although I do think it takes a little bit longer to grow out of being a great git," she added with a mocking smile. "Just tell her that I helped you and we will call it even."

"Fine," he shrugged. Little Greengrass nodded her head and began to walk away, but turned around and seemed to reach into her robes pocket for her wand. "Do not even think about it, Greengrass. Whatever you do to me, I can exponentially reciprocate the damage." She blinked a few times and glanced down at her feet.

"If you tell anyone…" she whispered fiercely.

"Do not think yourself so special, Little Greengrass," Draco drawled. "My motives require me to protect myself and that means keeping your secrets a secret. I could care less about your internal ramblings," he added callously. "Go away," he muttered with a dismissive wave of his hand. Little Greengrass looked at him for a moment before turning on her heel and leaving.

And even though Draco knew more about her than an hour ago, as she walked away he found himself asking the question, "Who the hell is Astoria Greengrass?"

* * *

All she wanted to do was sleep after Occlumency lessons. It was exhausting to relive some of her fondest and most painful memories in the course of an hour. It felt like she had travelled through her life and witnessed all her victories and mistakes.

Things had changed between her and Malfoy. He knew all the essentials about her, enough to get under her skin, enough to have legitimate leverage over her. She had thought about performing a memory charm on him, but his Occlumency would have made it very difficult; additionally, she was still unsure where Malfoy stood. He could do anything with her life story and yet, he was silent on the matter. It almost made her trust him… but that was _never_ going to happen.

Over the next few weeks, the whispers about the Master of Memory had slowly died down. She was quite glad Malfoy had not gotten close to suspecting that she was that elusive person: that was one secret that he could truly use against her. The real worrisome question was, since when did her life become so inextricably tied to the young man whom she had loathed since infancy, Draco "The Great Git" Malfoy? She should have been worried about the whole ordeal, but she was reasurred by the fact that she had plenty of dirt on Malfoy. So, she found herself rather resigned to what had happened. Malfoy knew. End of story.

He had even laughed at her remark on the peacock in the Malfoy garden. It was a genuine laugh, the kind of laugh she had not heard out of him in years. He had heard her genuine laughter in her memories. How old and joyless they had become in recent years.

It seemed as though everything was finally settling down. Astoria began to sleep better and eat more during the month of February. Then stupid blokes had to go and mess everything up.

* * *

Draco, Blaise, and Nott sat together with Little Greengrass in the Slytherin common room one evening.

"I finally figured out why the younger girls are all aflutter: tomorrow is Valentine's Day," said Nott.

"Oh goody," Little Greengrass rolled her eyes, a sardonic tone dripping from her every word. "Now I am just titillating with excitement."

"I'm always titillating with excitement," Blaise quipped.

"No one asked for your dick to give his opinion," Little Greengrass sighed.

"My dick does not to be asked to give his opinion."

"I had rather your dick not give _anything_."

"You're losing your touch, Greengrass," Blaise tutted. "Your jokes have fallen quite flaccid. Cum on, I know you can do better than that." Her face grew bright red.

"If you were not so crude, I would be forced to conclude that you were clever, Zabini," she struggled to say. "And if you spent half of the time you devoted to dick-related humor toward not being an absolute wanker, perhaps someone would actually take you seriously."

"Oh believe me, Greengrass," Blaise said quite solemnly. "I assure you that I take my dick _very_ seriously."

"You are impossible," she tossed up her hands and walked away. "Bloody impossible!"

"I suppose that makes you tied?" Draco drawled.

* * *

"_What_, Summerby?" she asked after he sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

"It's just a really nice day to do our project outside," the Hufflepuff grinned, flopping to the ground. It was actually an uncommonly nice day for February. All the snow had melted and Summerby had insisted that he and Astoria work outside on their partner essay for Dark Arts. Astoria was not pleased with the prospect of spending any more time than what was necessary with Summerby, but realized the task was inescapable. She even tried complaining that the ground would be wet, but he had apparently thought ahead of her and had a spell to fix that. So, they sat on a blanket near the lake with books strewn around them and Astoria pointedly kept her eyes on their essay.

"Be that as it may, please stop pathetically sighing and help me start the next paragraph. Should we elaborate on some of the effects of the spell or talk about the different uses…?"

"How can you focus on a day like this?" he interrupted.

"What do you mean?"

"Look around you, Astoria," he gestured with open arms. "I swear to Merlin, we go to school in the most beautiful place in all of the UK."

"That is a subjective observation," Astoria quipped. "Many people would disagree with you. Now about the third paragraph…"

"Do _you_ disagree with me?"

"Can we work on the essay?"

"Come on, Astoria, just one question!" he smiled warmly. It was an unnerving smile.

"Fine, because you will obviously not drop the subject. I do disagree. I think my estate is the most beautiful place in all of England. It is in the Lake District: rolling green hills as far as the eye can see."

"Green hills. Greengrass. Green eyes," he mused aloud. "Tell me, Astoria, are the hills on your estate as green as your eyes?" Out of anyone else's mouth, it would have been the cheesiest line in the book, but somehow, Summerby made it sound almost innocent.

"That is a personal question," she stiffened up, quite confused by the playful expression on his face.

"No it's not," he denied. "I simply wish to know as a point of reference. So, are the hills as green as your eyes?" he asked more seriously. Something made her answer:

"Greener."

"Greener? _Impossible_," he laughed.

"It is a different sort of green," she quickly explained. "All the Greengrasses have green eyes, but they are different shades of green. For example, Daphne's have a bit of blue in them, my father has more olive green eyes and my eyes are…"

"Really, really pretty," Summerby finished her sentence. There was an awkward pause before he sheepishly ran his fingers through his hair and winced. "I said that aloud, didn't I?" he asked bashfully. Astoria looked down.

"Shall we continue with the essay?"

"No," he said abruptly. "I mean, no please. _Merlin_, that doesn't even make any sense…" he began to mutter to himself.

"Summerby," she asked warily, "did you drink some bad pumpkin juice for breakfast?"

"No, Astoria," he laughed. "I'm fine. I really am. You just… you make me… I simply feel like a bumbling idiot around you."

"That is not uncommon," Astoria assured him. "I have been told I can be quite a snob sometimes. I apparently make a lot of people feel very stupid."

"It is not that," he explained. "Not that I think you aren't smart, because you are the smartest person I know, even if you try to hide it, but it's not in that way that you make me feel like an idiot. I feel like an idiot because—"

"Summerby," Astoria quickly interrupted him, "I feel like we are treading into personal territory when we have a very non-personal essay to write—"

"What is wrong with being personal, Astoria?" Summerby asked her, sounding rather hurt. "Why do you insist on keeping a barrier between us? You should know that I mean no harm, so what's the hurt in being friendly? Is this about the war? ...Is this about blood?" he added anxiously.

"No, it is not about blood," Astoria hissed back at him and there was a flash of relief across his face. "This war is beyond blood but I do not think that anything is beyond this war."

"What do you mean?" he asked, now confused.

"The point is that having relationship other than being partners in Dark Arts is completely impossible, not to mention undesirable," she scoffed.

"What if I am not content with that?" he asked determinedly, moving across the blanket to sit closer to her. Astoria held her breath. "What if I don't want to be just your partner? What if I want to be…?" Words failed him as they stared at each other, their faces but inches apart.

"My friend?" Astoria finished his sentence after a very long pause, terrified where the conversation was going.

"For starters," he said softly, glancing down before catching her gaze again. "If that's what it takes…"

He ran his fingers through his light brown hair, clenched his jaw, and looked up at her. Alec Summerby's warm, honey brown eyes held her fixated. He was actually quite handsome, now that Astoria was really looking at him. His smile was nearly infectious and he seemed to be in quite good shape from Quidditch. The way he looked at her… no one had ever looked at her like that.

"Why have you fixed your Hufflepuff loyalty on me, Summerby, out of everyone at this school?" Astoria breathed, unable to muster up the anger she wanted to show him.

"Because… Merlin, I have tried to figure it out myself. I just… I see you struggling every day—struggling with yourself, with this war, with what is expected of you, with everything—and I know that despite everything you've done, you have good intentions."

"Do not fool yourself into thinking that you know me, Summerby," Astoria scowled, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You think you are the only person at this school who is really good at watching people, but I've been watching you—not in a creepy, stalker way, of course," he hurriedly explained, "but I watch you because I want to know you better than you have allowed me to know you. For example—"

"There is no need—"

"—I know that you always used to keep your fringe pinned back really neatly, but now you let it fall into your eyes because you think that people won't notice you as much. And you know all the answers in Dark Arts but pretend like you don't so the Carrows will leave you alone."

"Summerby…"

"And I know you would do anything to protect your sister because I'm a Hufflepuff and I know what loyalty looks like and she is the one person you are truly loyal to. And I know that sometimes you have to act like you don't care about things when you really do care, and I know that sometimes you have to pretend to like things that you really hate. Your favorite color is green and despite all the shit that is happening here, you absolutely love school because you love to learn."

"Summerby."

"And I know that you try to feed the thestrals when you're feeling down and I don't think that you can see them and I really never want you to because that would make me sad to know that you have one more burden on your shoulders. I know that over this school year you haven't been sleeping enough because you look so damn tired all the time and you've lost a lot of weight and that scares me shitless, and damn it, Astoria, you deserve someone on your side."

"_Summerby_."

"And it's Valentine's Day and that's when you're supposed to come clean with how you feel about that special someone, so you should know, Astoria, that's how I feel about you," he rambled on. She just sat there, looking at him, shocked by his honesty and blown away by his candor and openness. She had never met a person like him, a person without an ulterior agenda able to be so upfront with their emotions. She did not doubt that what he was saying was true and she had never trusted anyone so completely. "Astoria, say something… please?"

"I do not know what to say," she shrugged, breaking eye contact with him.

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologized. "I unloaded a lot on you and then just expected you to… you know what, I'm sorry, just forget about it," he said, now growing frustrated.

"Summerby…"

"I get it, Astoria. You aren't interested, I can take a hint," he said, looking very much like he wanted to leave. "Maybe you're right: maybe we should keep things non-personal and we should just be partners. Maybe…"

"Just please stop talking," she said, closing her eyes to fight off tears. Why was she so upset by this? She had never been so confused before. She had always had a plan or backup plans but this was entirely unexpected. "We are in the middle of a war," she said evenly. "And I do not know where I stand." He nodded his head understandingly, but hopefully, and that made her sad for some reason. "You cannot possibly… unless you have a death wish…" she nearly choked her words as he reached up and gently stroked her cheek, causing her breath to hitch in her throat and a slow shiver run down her spine. "I am not good with feelings in general and I have enough to worry about," she said quickly. He gulped, as if he was trying to swallow his feelings.

"So, it's about the war?" he asked morosely.

"Among other things," she responded and his hand dropped.

"Alright then," he said hollowly. "So that's how it's going to be."

"You think that you can somehow save me," she smirked, an amused but derisive smile twisting on her lips. "And you cannot, Summerby." This made him angry for some reason.

"I don't want to save you, Astoria," he insisted. "I don't see you as a project to improve. You are already a complete person—if you weren't, you wouldn't have made it this far. I just care about you… you are more than just a partner to me." This clear confession paralyzed her for a moment before she bolted upright.

"Well, I believe the essay is nearly completed. I will just finish it up and you can skim it before class," Astoria rose, hurriedly grabbing her things and eager to leave.

"Well, that's not fair," he instinctively began, being a proponent of fair play with his conventional Hufflepuff demeanor. "But don't go!"

"I think it is best if I do," she said, shoving her books into her book bag.

"Just hear me out for a second," Summerby protested, grabbing her book bag to prevent her from leaving.

"Summerby," she angrily scowled.

"We live in a scary world."

"Summerby."

"A really fucking scary world—"

"_Summerby._"

"—but you aren't the only one who is scared and you don't have to be scared alone. And I can—"

"_Alec_," she pleaded and the use of his first name shocked him. Her throat felt tight and her heart hammered. She was unsure how to collect herself and escape gracefully until she remembered her Occlumency lessons. She closed her mind, emptied her thoughts, and pushed all emotions away. Only then did she look at him, her face completely neutral and unreadable. She took a step back. "Just stop," she ordered him, turned on her heel, and left him standing there.

She looked back once and he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking out onto the lake. She shook her head to herself and walked back to the castle and into the Slytherin common room, barely batting an eye at Zabini whispering something in a girl's ear as her sister shot murderous looks at his back. She took the stairs two at a time and flopped down on her bed.

Forget Slytherin blokes being trouble… Hufflepuff blokes with perfect intentions were almost worse.

* * *

It was February 20th. She was sixteen years old, but she did not feel any older. In fact, it began like any other day and she did not even realize it was her birthday until Daphne pounced on her in the common room.

"My baby sister! Sixteen! They grow up so fast!" she sighed dramatically.

"It is your birthday, Astoria?" asked Theo. "Why did you not tell us?"

"I forgot," she shrugged, feeling a grin slowly spread on her face. "It is my birthday."

"You bet it is!" Daphne squealed. "It's going to be a great day!" And even though it was illogical to believe that her birthday was any different or more special than the other 364 days in the year, Astoria shoved these thoughts aside and decided to be optimistic like her sister.

"Yes, it is going to be a great day," she smiled.

The odd thing was that it _was_ a great day. Daphne nicked a chocolate cake from the kitchen and they sat in the common room and talked while slowly devouring the entire thing. She could not stop smiling—really smiling, the kind of quirky, lopsided grin that her mother did her best to even out. And she laughed—really laughed, a genuine laugh that turned heads in the common room. Nothing could touch her day. Not even the Carrows.

* * *

Little Greengrass had the most shamelessly ridiculous smile he had ever seen. It was every Pureblood mother's worse nightmare to have a daughter with a lopsided grin because there was nothing sweet or darling about a crooked smile. But Little Greengrass' smile was as lopsided and crooked as they came.

And her laugh—_Merlin_, it was no endearing little giggle or pretty laugh reminiscent of bells, but it was a real laugh. Draco realized that her laugh had not changed since she was a little girl and her father was spinning her around in circles. Somewhere inside Little Greengrass, that amazed four-year-old was still alive, waiting for a day when it would not be a crime to feel so blissfully happy.

She was sixteen. He was sixteen when he received the Dark Mark. He was too young. She was too young. And so when the Carrows did come in and almost ruined her birthday, he did the unthinkable—he stepped in.

* * *

"Greengrass, your presence in the dungeons is required," cackled Alecto Carrow. Astoria felt all the blood rush from her head and everything spun for a few seconds. This was what she got for deluding herself into thinking that she was invincible because it was her birthday.

"Do I smell cake?" Amycus Carrow sniffed the air.

"We had cake for my birthday," Astoria pointed to the plate covered in chocolate crumbs.

"It is your birthday, my pet? And how old are you now?" Alecto crooned.

"Sixteen," Astoria said softly, wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.

"What a good age! And what perfect timing we have, brother! Greengrass, we have a present for you in the dungeons," Alecto grinned.

"What kind of present?" Astoria asked politely, feigning ignorance.

"The kind you get to play with," Amycus responded with a leering smile. Astoria felt like she was going to be sick and it was the sort of sick completely unrelated to the sheer amount of cake she had eaten. Alecto must have recognized the look on her face and asked:

"Greengrass, you seem displeased. Do you not like our gift?" It seemed like everyone in the room was on edge, waiting to see what she would do next. Astoria only knew that there was no way in hell she wanted to spend her birthday torturing some poor kid and began to wheedle her way out of the job.

"I was actually hoping to take the evening off. No homework, no lessons, no responsibilities. Just cake and the company of my sister," Astoria tried to explain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blaise heartily agreeing with wanting cake and her sister and she made a mental note to hex him at the next favorable opportunity. "I was thinking about going to bed early, actually. I know, not a very good way to celebrate one's birthday but I am so awful tired and you know how positively _exhausting_ it is to teach those blood traitors a lesson."

"Oh, my little pet, have we overworked you?" Alecto asked and Astoria was as shocked as anyone how these excuses managed to assuage the sadistic woman. Apparently, Astoria had Alecto Carrow wrapped around her pinky finger. Astoria nodded to the professor, trying to look as exhausted as possible.

"Just a little, professor," she tried to smile.

"Well, I suppose we can let you skive off this one time," Amycus said. "But what will we do with the student? We can't just let him go."

"Any takers?" Alecto Carrow asked the students in the room. There was silence before Draco Malfoy stood up. "Draco Malfoy, rising to the occasion! This is a surprise."

'Surprise' was the understatement of the century. No, the bloody _eon_! It took all of Astoria's self-control for her jaw not to hit the floor. The Great Git was actually doing something completely selfless… and for her, of all people! What had she done to deserve this? How would she ever even out the scales with him? Draco Bloody Malfoy! Merlin was fucking _laughing_ at her, pointing and laughing and probably pissing his robes. And yet, she found herself flooded with an immense feeling gratefulness toward Malfoy.

"Happy Birthday, Greengrass," he said dryly and left for the dungeons. She was in such shock that she did not even move as everyone slowly cleared out of the common room. Instead, she sat and waited for him to come back.

* * *

Little Greengrass was perched on the couch, staring at the entrance to the common room when he came in. She looked at him in confusion and awe for a moment.

"Was there some special ingredient in the cake that is making the door so fascinating?" Draco drawled. Little Greengrass snapped out of her daze and scowled. "So, why are you sitting there looking like Professor Trelawney trying to read tea leaves?"

"I am rather not enjoying this new trend," she said and it sounded like she was changing subject but she was half-answering his question.

"What trend? You being a bother?" he quipped. "Because that is not a trend, I am afraid. It is a state of being." Little Greengrass pursed her lips, quickly tossing his off-hand remark over her shoulder.

"Me owing you."

"Owing me what?"

"Playing dumb is rather unbecoming on you, Malfoy," she sneered. "Leave that to Crabbe and Goyle: they are practically professionals. You know what I mean about owing you. I am sure you keep tally."

"Me: 4. You: 1," he finally admitted, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow challengingly.

"I have it as 2-1," she frowned, although he could tell that she was secretly pleased about being right, that he did keep a tally. "You helped me with Occlumency, but I made up for that and helped you with the Carrows. I mean, did it help?"

"It did," Draco nodded. "The Carrows were impressed." It was true: mixing up the Cruciatus (which was not as soul crushing to cast when one only needed it to work rather than wanted it) with some other clever spells seemed to make a favorable impression the Carrows, who said that they would inform Snape that he had vastly improved his skills.

"That makes us tied 1-1, and then I owe you for, well… tonight. So how have you managed to tally me up to four?"

"The dungeons, obviously, is the third."

"That does not count. Snape stopped the Carrows, not you."

"I carried you out of there. You cannot even fathom how much trouble I could have been in—how much trouble my entire family…" he stopped, struggling to find the words to say. Little Greengrass cocked her head. Damn, he said too much. She was going to get nosy in three, two…

"Then why did you do it?" It came out as a whisper.

"I already explained my motives to you," he responded mechanically. She saw that she could not get further elaboration from him and sighed.

"And the fourth?"

"Pardon?"

"The fourth favor… what was it?"

The fourth favor to Little Greengrass was saving her ass in front of the Dark Lord by telling him that she was not worth their time of day. Perhaps it was the nicest thing he had done for anyone and she really did not need to know it. Moreover, the knowledge of this favor was of more value to himself than to her.

Draco looked at her curious and rather perturbed gaze before his lips twisted into what he imagined was a rather diabolical smile.

"I do think I will keep that one to myself," he said smoothly, "in the event that I am in need of leverage." Little Greengrass looked quite livid. It was funny. "Besides, I need not justify myself anymore, especially to someone as insignificant as yourself." She visibly bristled at the insult.

"You—Draco Malfoy—made me significant the moment you informed everyone my name on the Hogwarts Express. This is _your_ doing," she snapped. It was the first time she had ever said his first name, so it was his turn to bristle.

"_My_ doing? Almost everything is out of my hands! If you want to know who exactly is stirring the cauldron, look to your darling _Theo_ for an answer," he sneered.

"I know to take Theo with a grain of salt. It is _you_ who I constantly question. You would not help me unless I could help you." Draco studied Little Greengrass carefully. She was not bluffing: there was a certain amount of anger and resolution in her gaze that told him that. She thought she had him all figured out… the little fool! "You need me for something. You must have some idea."

"Funny you should mention that," Draco murmured, smirking with glee, "because I do."


	10. Chapter 8: Favors and Falsehoods

_Author's Note: So, I've been reworking this chapter for awhile, but I have had very little time to write. So good for not having a very busy spring quarter... BUT I am working super hard to get back into writing. However, I have the knack for wanting to write when I have other stuff due. Yay procrastination? Anyway, read and review!_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 8: Favors and Falsehoods_

"Greengrass, desist your incessant and migraine-inducing prattling: this is not open for negotiations. You are going to damn us all if you continue your careless ways."

"_Careless?_" her voice raised an octave.

"Yes, careless. It took you an hour to control your emotions and close your mind. You are a bloody mess and a liability, and sodding Nott refuses to toss you aside, so it is going to be my way or begin making funeral arrangements, Greengrass."

"…is that a threat, Malfoy?" she asked after a moment, carefully meeting his steely gaze.

"Consider it a plain portrait of a probable future, should you feel uncooperative," he said bluntly. They were silent for a moment.

"And _why_ are we going to do this?"

"So that whichever way this war turns out, the crimes have no written record."

"You have doubts who will win?" she inquired and he looked angry.

"You are not your sister, Greengrass. You cannot be so naïve," he snapped before lowering his voice. "As long as good Saint Potter is alive, there will be war."

"And why are we going to do this together rather than I alone? You seem so set on me repaying you, so why are you to accompany me?"

"Because I do not trust you."

"I am so pleased that the feeling is mutual," she chirped sarcastically.

"Greengrass, if you mess this up—"

"I am well aware of the consequences, Malfoy. There is no need to treat me as a child."

"But you _are_ a child, Greengrass."

"As are you." He looked at her without amusement. "Your motives for doing this seem very inane to me."

"I do not need to explain my motives to you."

"So you have said, and yet I feel as though I should know why I am risking my neck for a seemingly pointless task."

"Because you have no choice," said Malfoy. "That is why you are risking your neck," he said bitterly. Astoria thought about his words and then recalled Longbottom's: the Gryffindor said that she _did_ have a choice, but he was wrong. That made The Great Git correct.

"So, we are going to break into Filch's office and steal the detention records." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, Friday evening."

* * *

They had gone over the plan a thousand times. It was difficult to find good times and places to meet without being seen, but Slytherins (especially Slytherin men) were the masters of discretion when the occasion required it. It was not as painful of an experience as Draco had thought it would be. But, Greengrass was still an irksome little bother and subsequently made a few drastic alterations to his already well thought-out plan, much to his frustration.

The prefects were no longer allowed to patrol the hallways at night and most students were too scared to leave their rooms at that hour anyway. Draco and Little Greengrass would use invisibility charms to make their way over to Filch's office. A simple _Alohomora_ would get them in just fine—they had already tested it one afternoon when passing the room. Greengrass had heard whispers that Filch was suspected to be a Squib and there would probably be nothing magical in the room.

"A Squib? Are you sure?" he asked her incredulously.

"No, but the evidence is quite in favor of the supposition," Little Greengrass said. "I mean, have you ever seen him perform even the simplest of spells?" Draco had not noticed, but raised an eyebrow in incredulity.

"But if he is then a Squib and students seem to suspect it, then why have the Carrows not disposed of him? He is obviously a tainted specimen." Greengrass looked at him for a second, cocking her head.

"Are you always so clinical in your terms?"

"There is scientific evidence, Greengrass," Draco scowled.

"I know, I have read it," she said, much to his aggravation. "I have also read the counterarguments and opposing studies."

"And your consensus?"

"It is of no importance and yet to be determined," she concluded, folding her hands in her lap.

"Pansy did say you were faithless, little black sheep," he said, hoping to get a rise out of Greengrass. Pansy had been making more of an effort to talk to him as of late, especially now that the Carrows were pleased with his progress. He handled it quietly, but found her blind devotion to The Cause quite disgusting. At least he was educated on the matter.

"Parkinson's opinions are also of no importance to me."

"She is smarter than you give her credit for," Draco said in spite of himself, knowing that Pansy was wicked cunning when needed.

"Then marry the girl!" Little Greengrass rolled her eyes.

"Please, Greengrass, I just ate lunch."

"I did not know that 'git' was spelled M-A-L-F-O-Y," she concluded.

"Your elucidation on orthography is truly illuminating. I think I may need a pair of sunglasses," he drawled. Little Greengrass' lips twisted into an almost-smile.

"Last year I thought Filch was quite cruel," she rapidly, but seamlessly changed subject (her thought process was annoyingly opaque), "but now I believe he is rather disgusted by the Carrows' disciplinary methods."

"And how have you come to this conclusion?" Draco asked, reclining in his seat. Little Greengrass' mind sometimes worked in fascinating ways—she really did have an overactive imagination. The group of girls in her year was not far off the mark when they said that she needed to 'get out more often.'

"Well," Little Greengrass began, "the Carrows do not treat Filch very well. They demean his position and allude to his inability to perform magic. Filch's pride is his reign over the castle: he knows the corridors inside and out. For the Carrows to undermine his position is a direct threat to the only thing he loves other than Mrs. Norris. Filch is just an angry and bitter man, jealous of us for having magic and therefore did not mind too much the Carrows methods until things escalated to Unforgivables. It also did not help that Amycus kicked Mrs. Norris."

"Merlin, he is as dumb as a troll."

"My thoughts exactly," Little Greengrass heartily agreed, only to come to the shocking realization that they had agreed on something and that voicing her opinion could have gotten her in trouble if he had been being sarcastic. Draco looked at her pointedly and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "I believe," she carefully continued, "that if we pull this off, upon discovering that the records are missing, he may not report it to the Carrows. If he does, it will only be because he feels once again that his job is being threatened."

"These are some astute deductions," Draco drawled, propping his feet up as she raised an eyebrow at his praise. "Did you infer this all by yourself?" She gave a frustrated sigh.

"Daphne helped," she admitted. "But she does not suspect a thing. Daphne… well, she has a very good understanding of people in general." Draco nodded.

"Well, if what you say is true, this should be easier than we had expected. Get in, take my records, and get out."

"_Your_ records?"

"Yes," he said, amused by the shocked look on her face.

"What about mine?" she protested.

"That was never a part of the plan. I thought I made that clear…?" He hadn't and he knew it. He just liked watching her squirm.

"No, you never said that, Malfoy. If you steal your records, I ought to be able to steal mine while we are there! I have been in that dungeon more than you have. Besides," she said after collecting herself, "if you take only your records, you would be the obvious culprit. We ought to take all the Slytherins—protect our own and related shit," she said with a flourish of her hand. It was a preposterous idea, but she had a point.

"Well then, we might as well take everyone's," he muttered sarcastically.

"A smashing proposition, Malfoy."

"I was joking."

"I was not. And you know I am right," she smirked.

"You are infuriating."

"You have told me that multiple times," she said, her smirk almost turning into that ridiculous lopsided grin of hers.

"Well, I feel the need to repeat it every time I am in your loathsome presence," he explained, which only made her snicker. "Oh, sod off, Greengrass," he scowled and she sauntered off.

* * *

"Another book, Theo?" she asked in a strained voice.

"Yes, Astoria," he said after placing a book on the lamp table beside her. It was getting increasingly difficult to talk with the seventh years, especially since she had been spending time with Malfoy plotting his scheme. "You look well," he said cautiously.

"I have been sleeping and eating better this month," she said. February had treated Astoria well, relative to the other months.

"I noticed," Theo responded, his eyes flicking over her. "It is difficult to talk to you, though."

"I know," she said simply.

"Astoria," he asked, sitting down beside her after giving a cursory glance around the room, "I did not want Malfoy in your head as much as you did not."

"Well, your demeanor said otherwise at the time," she glowered and glanced down at her schoolwork.

"I know you are angry…"

He was right: Astoria had been very angry with him for letting Malfoy, whom he knew that she did not trust, delve into her mind. She had been avoiding Theo since, even though he was the only one who seemed to notice or care for her other than Daphne, the Carrows, or Alec Summerby, and the latter two were completely undesirable.

"You are the one pulling strings around here, Theo," she said bitterly. "My feelings and thoughts are of little consequence, and _obviously_ best kept silent."

"Astoria…"

"Nott," she said sternly, using his surname. He sighed, rubbing the brow of his nose.

"Please read the book. I believe you will like it."

"For some reason, I do not think that is true," Astoria countered. "You want me to read it for some other reason," she said warily.

"Do you not trust me, Astoria?"

"You and I both know better than that," was her clipped response.

"You have never protested about being given reading material before," Theo said coolly.

"Well, I have begun as of late to question exactly who is stirring the cauldron in this House and my conclusion is that it is you. Besides, you should not take offense, considering that you do not trust me either," she haughtily explained.

"That is true," said Theo. "I do not trust you. But I believe in you, Astoria. So read the bloody book," he shoved it toward her. "It is Aristotle's _Poetics_ in the original Greek. I genuinely thought you would like it," he spat. Astoria felt bad for a moment and glanced at the book before picking it up and thumbing its pages.

"What is it about?" she asked and she thought she heard Theo sigh.

"Tragedy."

"Oh," she said, quietly setting the book down.

"You will do best not to question me," Theo turned around and said in his particularly infuriating, enigmatic, god-complex way, full of sage wisdom, hidden truths, and clandestine falsehoods.

"You are a man, not Merlin, Theo," Astoria said.

"I know," he said airily, once again keeping something hidden. "We are all fallible." His tone changed and he said, "One day, when this is all over, I will explain."

"Since you have all the answers," she sneered, "when will it end, Theo? Tell me that: when will it end?" Theodore Nott looked at Astoria coldly and left without a word, leaving her alone with her books in the common room.

* * *

Daphne was drunk on the Friday that Astoria was to help Malfoy break into Filch's office.

"Tor_iiiiii,_" she slurred. "What are you doing all alone down here?"

"Daphne, go to bed," Astoria sighed.

"But I'm _drunk_," was her astute explanation.

"Really. I had not noticed."

"Tor_iiiiiiiiii_," Daphne whined.

"What?"

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight? I don't wanna be alone," her sister murmured, throwing her arms around her neck. Daphne's curls were suffocating.

"You won't be alone in your room."

"Not that kind of alone, Tori," Daphne sniffled quietly, burying herself in her younger sister's slight frame. "I just don't wanna be alone in bed and I hate blokes—_I hate them_—and so please, can I sleep in your bed?" She sounded so sad that Astoria had to stop and think of her sister's position. Daphne Greengrass was used to being loved and adored by all wherever she went, but since her parent's flight, she had been ignored and shunned. Daphne enjoyed the company of men and was quite terrified of being alone, but her supply of amorous suitors had run out or had run into hiding, leaving her quite lonely. And truly, that was the best way to torture and extrovert like her. "Tor_iiiiiiiii_."

"Fine, you can, just go upstairs."

"But Tor_iiiiiiii_."

"What Daphne?"

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now, upstairs."

"But Tor_iiiiiiiiiiii_."

"_What Daphne_? she asked again, beginning to lose her patience.

"Never mind, I forgot. Wait, I remembered somethin' else. When will you be up with _meeeee?_"

"In a half hour, perhaps. Do not wait up, Daph. Just go upstairs quietly and locate my bed and if you feel sick, the loo is across the hall. Utilize that."

"_Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! _You are so _funny_, Tor_iiiiii_. You are the funniest sister, _everrrr_."

"Thank you, now upstairs. Please do not trip." Daphne found this quite funny as she giggled up the staircase.

"And everyone thinks that she is quite endearing when she is drunk," Malfoy said, emerging from the shadows. Astoria did not know what to say. Her sister used to be sweet, giggling, and joyous when drinking, but now, she just seemed sad and lonely. "Any day now, Greengrass. Get in, get the records, and get out," he whispered and she barely caught his voice. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"I suppose."

"Hush Greengrass, want to wake the entire castle?" he asked dryly. Astoria rolled her eyes. "Well then," Malfoy said and flicked his wand. Then, she was gone.

* * *

Draco looked down at himself, saw nothing, and was quite pleased with his wandwork. He began to walk toward the door and opened it, leaving it open for Little Greengrass to close it behind her. She did so but walked directly into him, her bony frame bouncing off of him. He glared at her, but realized that she could not see his angry expression.

"Follow me."

"How can I follow you if I cannot see you?" she asked. The portraits did not stir from their barely audible whispers. Draco inwardly moaned. He did not even know where she was, her steps were so light. He felt a hand touch his chest. It skimmed up to his shoulder and gently grasped his arm. It was the same sort of touch when she fixed his tie: light, quick, and efficient, not the hungry, imploring, languid touch of Pansy. She squeezed his arm to gesture that she was ready and they set off walking together.

Everything sounded loud. His breathing, his steps, the beating of his heart. Little Greengrass was silent, her footsteps not making a sound as she walked with composed steps behind him. The castle was dark but he was well acquainted with the corridors and there was just enough candle light to shine the way. At one point, Greengrass's grasp on his arm may have grown tighter, but his senses were so heightened that he could have simply been overreacting. They made their way to Filch's office with no trouble, unlocked the door, slid inside, and locked it behind them. Draco cast a very faint _Lumos_, enough to see that there was no one inside but not bright enough to be seen through the cracks of the door. Little Greengrass nonverbally lifted the invisibility charm and they glanced around the room. (_Little Greengrass could cast nonverbal spells…? The witch was smarter than Stupid Mudblood Granger!)_

They were only looking for this year's records and Little Greengrass skimmed the cabinets for the proper year as Draco secured the room, casting silencing charms and security charms on it. A smile flitted across Little Greengrass' face as her hands skimmed over the drawer designated to Fred and George Weasley while Draco scowled. The cabinet creaked as Little Greengrass opened the drawer for the 1997-1998 school year and Draco quickly silenced that too before bringing over his wand to light the way for her and a satchel to place the documents in. He skimmed the records as she carefully deposited them.

It began demurely, with detentions to scrub floors and polish trophies to punish tardiness, sloppiness, or sass. Things escalated, and punishments were described in spells to inflict bodily harm. At last, the Cruciatus Curse was listed as the 'method of punishment'. The reason for 'detention' was often left blank, for the Carrows had little reason. The student who was punished, the student who did the punishing, and one of the Carrows was also listed. What disgusted Draco the most were the details: each spell used was listed under the 'methods of punishment' as well as the number of time each spell was used.

Little Greengrass took them all out of the cabinet, duplicated them, and then washed the text clean off the note cards. It was a nifty spell she contributed to his plot and he drilled her on it to make sure there was no way to reverse the spell. Once all the records were loaded into the satchel, she slung it on her shoulders and motioned that she was ready to go. Draco meticulously scoured the room of their presence, magically wiping down everything that they had touched and erasing all traces that they were there. Draco had just extinguished the light from his wand when they heard a scratching at the door. Then, there were footsteps down the hall.

"Hold on, Mrs. Norris. Dinner will be soon," grumbled a voice. Draco froze. It was Filch. Little Greengrass grasped his arm. Draco cast an invisibility charm over them as the door was unlocked and opened. Mrs. Norris prowled into the room, her yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of the office. Filch followed close behind, bearing a lantern, and shut the door behind him. Mrs. Norris hopped on the desk in the middle of the room and paced toward the corner where Draco and Little Greengrass stood frozen and invisible, hoping that Mrs. Norris would not reveal them. Inevitably, the cat began to yowl and Draco's mind was already churning with ideas.

"What is it Mrs. Norris?" Filch wheezed, shuffling into the room. "Is there a mouse for you in the corner?" Mrs. Norris continued to pointedly yowl at Draco and Little Greengrass. "Mrs. Norris, hush now, you'll wake the paintings," Filch's bulging eyes admonished the wiry, grey cat. Mrs. Norris swished her tail, looked at her master, and then back to Draco and Little Greengrass before releasing a final meow. "Students out of bed? And in my office?" asked Filch, his jowls shaking in fury. Filch quickly shuffled to where Draco and Little Greengrass stood and that was when Draco cast the Stunning Spell and caught the old man.

Technically, everything was going according to plan. Little Greengrass silenced Mrs. Norris' meows and began to look around the room for something Filch could have tripped on while Draco lowered the hunchbacked man to the floor and lifted their invisibility charm.

"My father always said that whenever you are in trouble, make it look like it is not your fault. Make it into an accident, or better yet, set up someone else to blame," he had told Little Greengrass as they had planned their break-in.

"Well, it is not like your dearest father has been the first one to give that helpful advice. I am fairly sure that is the Slytherin credo," Little Greengrass had drawled.

Their back-up plan, should they be discovered, was to make it appear as though Filch had come into his office, slipped or tripped, and hit his head on the table in the middle of the room. It would account for the memory loss that Little Greengrass would ensure with a Memory Charm.

"And you are proficient in Memory Charms, yes?"

"Well, Daphne's stuck fairly well I believe," she had said during the conception of the plan, but he had not been convinced. "If there is one thing you can trust me on, it is my spellwork, Malfoy. Stun him and give me ten seconds of composure and I will trim his memories as neatly as a seamstress."

Now, he was nearly ready to go all in on that spell. Little Greengrass found a vat of some slippery substance in the 'confiscated items' section and spilled it on the ground.

"Well done, Peeves," she murmured to herself. Draco silently agreed, thinking it was something that Peeves the Poltergeist would do to revenge himself on the cranky caretaker. They had planned that if they had to Stun the Caretaker, Draco would take care of the body while Little Greengrass would set the stage. Draco pulled out his wand, making an incision on Filch's forehead. Little Greengrass did not bat an eye, siphoned off some of the blood from the wound, and dropped it on the corner of the table.

"It needs to splatter. The blood. It would splatter across the table on impact," Draco said carefully and Little Greengrass looked at him oddly before slowly nodding and following his orders. Draco prepared himself to cast the Hematoma Jinx that Amycus Carrow had taught the students in one of the first weeks of school.

"He is not going to get a concussion from you looking at him, Malfoy. Although I am pretty sure that a few first years would say otherwise," Little Greengrass sneered. One cold look silenced her. He cast the spell, causing a bruise appeared on the man's forehead, and Draco prepared for the next spell.

"What are you doing?" Little Greengrass asked frantically.

"Breaking a wrist and bruising arms and knees," Draco said plainly. Little Greengrass looked at him in shock, which turned into something akin to disgust. "Do _not_ look at me like that Greengrass. I am not a sadistic bastard who takes pleasure in other's physical pain. I am doing what I must to make this accident look plausible," he hissed at her and something in her face changed.

"I am sorry," she whispered and he thought he would never have lived to hear those words come from her mouth with such genuine repentance. Draco was shocked and found himself murmuring that a sprain instead of a break could be arranged. At last, Argus Filch was arranged carefully on the ground, Mrs. Norris was unsilenced, and Draco re-cast the invisibility charm. Little Greengrass slipped out of the room behind him, placed her hand on his arm, and the two walked back to the Slytherin House and whispered the password. Little Greengrass silently slipped the satchel filled with the detention records in his hands and they wordlessly parted ways.

Draco's heart kept beating from the adrenaline long after he settled down to try to catch some sleep.

* * *

Filch had stumbled his way to the Hospital Wing in the early morning and was checked out by Madam Pomfrey, who concluded that he took a little spill and in a few days time, he would be all better. The school was Filch-free for three days and the students ran rampant, shouting and calling to each other through the hallways. The professors did little to stop the noise and instead looked at the students with hidden smiles, pleased to see a little liveliness in the castle.

Filch did not seem to notice that anything was missing or did not mention anything, much to Astoria's relief. It was now March and things were just beginning to settle down for Astoria when Fiona Davis sat down next to her, wrote that Neville needed the following by the end of the week: 1 oz Antimony, 3 drachms Sal Ammoniac, 1 pinch of Bicorn, and shredded dried skin of Boomslang. They were all potions ingredients and Astoria found herself dragging her feet to Professor Slughorn's office and asking if she could re-make the potion she had purposefully botched in class previously that week. The professor was quite enthused to help and sent her into the storeroom to fetch the ingredients, since he had already put them away. There, Astoria carefully measured out the ingredients she was blackmailed to obtain, smuggled them away in her knapsack, and then collected the ingredients she had to make for her potion. This time, she allowed herself to complete the potion successfully, much to Slughorn's pleasure. The mandated ingredients were slipped to Fiona in the library the following day.

It was not until a few days later that the ingredients began to bother her. She tore through her potions book, looking for commonalities between the ingredients.

"Bicorn? Why are you researching that?" asked Theo.

"Potions," she answered coldly, even though she knew that Theo would probably know the answer to the burning question on her mind. Theo caught her hostile tone.

"Well, Malfoy is the potions prodigy, so you can always ask him if you need help." Astoria ground her teeth and ignored his departure.

"Joy of joys, both Nott and Greengrass are on the same menstruation cycle!" chirped Blaise Zabini once Theo was out of earshot. Astoria narrowed her eyes at him.

"Bicorn?" Malfoy asked, coming into the conversation late. "That is quite rare. It is mainly used in Polyjuice Potions," he rattled off automatically, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading.

"You are such a Potions snob, Draco," Zabini rolled his eyes. "You need to get out more often, experience the joys of life," he continued with a slightly bitter edge but Astoria had stopped listening and began to flip through her potions book to look for the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion. And there it was:

_12 lacewing flies, __stewed for 21 days_

_1 ounce of crude __**Antimony**_

_4 unsucculated leeches_

_16 scruples of fluxweed, __picked at full moon_

_3 drachms of __pulverized __**Sal Ammoniac**_

_Pulverized blades of knotgrass_

_Pinch of powdered horn (lunar extracted) of __**Bicorn**_

_Filings and rasplings of Saltpeter, Mercury and Mars_

_Shredded dried skin of a __**Boomslang**_

_Extract of The-Transfigured-Being-To-B__e_

Malfoy was absolutely right. Dumbledore's Army was brewing a Polyjuice Potion. That meant that in about a month, Dumbledore's Army was planning something big—something that would require taking another person's body.

* * *

The Gryffindor first year was positively sobbing as Amycus Carrow dragged him to the dungeons. He was so little, his eyes as wide as saucers with fear, and tears streaming down his cheeks as he begged to go home. Draco, like everyone else, tried to ignore the hysterical screaming during the next five minutes. Amycus left the room without the boy and locked the room behind him. Soft sobs continued to seep from the dungeon for the rest of the day.

By morning, however, the first year was sleeping soundly in the Hospital Wing and the Carrows stood in the Great Hall, where empty plates awaited the students.

"A first year was taken from the dungeons last night before his punishment was concluded. One of you did it. And until that student steps forward, we will begin by giving detention to the first years' ickle Housemates. If that is not convincing enough, we will continue onto the rest of the first years," Amycus' voice boomed over the Great Hall.

"Severus, _do something!_" McGonagall begged. Snape turned to look at the Gryffindor Head, his dark eyes displaying absolutely no emotion or sympathy.

"No one? No one would like to own up? Well, then, I need the six Gryffindor first years to come up front please. Come on now, we won't hurt you. Actually, that's a lie," Alecto snickered.

"Alecto and Amycus, you will leave my first years alone!" McGonagall stood up, throwing a glance at the students to sit and not move a muscle. "They are _eleven years old_. You have done enough," McGonagall hissed.

"Obviously, we have not if students believe that they can deliberately disobey the orders of the professors," Alecto said coolly. "Now, come on, firsties, step right up."

"No, sit down," McGonagall ordered the kids, who were now in tears. "Spare them."

"I am afraid we cannot. There is a war outside the castle," said Alecto, magically picking up a first year by the ankle and dangling the kid toward them. "And in wars there are casualties."

"Put him down," McGonagall said lowly, but another voice boomed in the Great Hall.

"_Put him down!_" shouted Michael Corner, 7th year Ravenclaw. "I did it. I freed Henry from the dungeons, and I did it…" his voice faltered for a moment. He looked as though he was going to be positively sick. "…I did it for Professor Dumbledore, and Harry, and everyone who is fighting for what is right, good, and true!" he proclaimed. His face was pale and feverish, but there was a righteous glow to him, even though he knew and feared his demise.

"Well, that was not too difficult, was it?" crooned Alecto dropping the dangling first year. "Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Greengrass… and you, of course, Corner… to the dungeons."

"Severus, you must do something!" Professor Flitwick now joined McGonagall's protests. "They are _children_."

"Breakfast is served," Snape said and food appeared in front of them, although no one was particularly hungry after that.

* * *

She thought it would never end. There were hours of cursing, screams, taunting, torture, blood, and bruises.

Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, and Astoria took turns hexing, cursing, and jinxing Michael Corner until he was bloody, bruised, and passed out from the pain and screaming. Then, he was revived and it would start all over again.

Michael Corner spent four days in the Hospital Wing recovering. Astoria at times thought about making him forgot what he had endured, but then remembered Longbottom's pride in doing the right thing. Corner, she concluded, would want to remember his valiant actions. He was the hero of his House: all of the Ravenclaws went to dinner that night, sat for a few minutes, did not touch their foot, shouted, "For Michael!" and left the room. The Ravenclaws' show of camaraderie stunned the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, who out of bravery and loyalty, tossed down their own napkins and left the Great Hall without starting their dinners. Daphne blinked back tears as Astoria stared at her plate. Neither ate.

But who was Michael Corner, going around and saving sobbing first years? He was no Gryffindor. He was a _Ravenclaw_, one of the smart ones. If a Ravenclaw thought defying the Carrows was right, good, and true, could a Slytherin agree? And moreover, would it even matter?

* * *

Draco observed a great change in Dumbledore's Army. After the Corner Conundrum, The Old Coot's Army had gone completely silent. It was like all vivacity and hope in Hogwarts had died, right as it seemed like a feeling of unity and life had been stirred among the students. There were no more dramatic outbursts in class, only bitter mutterings. Instead of being the instigator, Longbottom was the one holding the students back. After visiting Corner in the Hospital Wing, apparently he had realized how much blood was on his hands and he could not ask anyone from The Old Coot's Army to put themselves in harm's way any further. It made for a very boring March.

Without hope or knowledge if Potter was even alive, The Old Coot's Army withdrew. Without the passionate outbursts, the Carrows lectured without stop. When the Carrows were not contradicted, they grew bored. Longbottom became a personal punching bag for the Carrows while Draco and Little Greengrass became the Carrows' favorite pets, Little Greengrass more so because of her ingenuity.

Little Greengrass began to fall apart again, barely sleeping and eating. Draco himself did not fare much better and Nott worried himself sick over Little Greengrass. She handled herself well enough, although sometimes, Longbottom seemed to get to her for some odd reason. When asked (taunted) about it, Little Greengrass told Draco to sod off and mind his own business.

Eventually, Nott and Little Greengrass reconciled. She had curled up on the corner of one of the couches, reading something called _Poetics_ by someone called _Aristotle_ (stupid name, if you asked him), when the silence of the room was broken by the sound of water splattering on paper. Draco and Nott both looked up (Blaise was in his own world, as usual), and saw Little Greengrass wipe her face. Another tear came and that too hit the page.

Nott rose and sat next to her. Draco could have figured that she was reading a sad book, but Greengrass was not the type to cry over something as stupid as that. Nott draped his arm around the back of the couch and she looked up at him icily before her glare melted. Her eyes flickered back down to the pages and she wiped those two before turning the page, shifting her body to lean on him, and read on.

Tracey Davis came down for a moment and looked as though she was about to ask Nott a question, but upon seeing Nott with an arm around Little Greengrass, she paled and walked back up the stairs. Nott's eyes followed her retreating form and his face became smooth and unreadable. Eventually, Little Greengrass fell asleep against Nott's shoulder and Draco snapped in her face to wake her up. Her green eyes shot open and Draco dryly welcomed her back to reality, whatever the hell that was.

* * *

March seemed to come and go for Astoria Greengrass. Classes dragged on. People stopped laughing and smiling at school. There was no news of Potter. The _Prophet_ continued to name the deceased and missing. Dumbledore's Army was silent. There was no hope, no life, nothing until the rumors of the Master of Memory started up again. However this time, the Carrows caught on.

"The Headmaster would like to see you in his office once classes are over," said Professor Slughorn told her during Potions. When she arrived in Snape's office, the Carrows stood waiting anxiously with suspicious sneers on their face.

"Miss Greengrass, sit," said Snape, gesturing to a chair. "Do you know why you are here?"

"No sir," Astoria responded.

"Have you heard, Miss Greengrass, of the rumors about 'The Master of Memory?'" Astoria knew this day would come and thanked Theo and even Malfoy the Great Git mentally. She took a deep breath and closed her mind. Her responses were even and smooth.

"I have not heard of these rumors," she lied.

"Well, it is suspected that there is a Slytherin who has been given 'supplementary lessons' and afterward used a memory charm on the students receiving the detention so they cannot remember their punishment." Astoria remained silent, knowing that her reticence could not incriminate her. "So, you have not heard of these rumors?"

"No sir."

"And what is your opinion of them?"

"Pardon me, sir, but I do not understand your question."

"Do you believe that these rumors could be true?" Alecto barked, cutting off Snape.

"I will be the one asking questions, Alecto," Snape said coolly. "But do answer the question, Miss Greengrass."

"I put no stock in rumors," was Astoria's succinct reply.

"So you do not believe that these rumors could be true?"

"I suppose that there is a possibility, but I find it highly, _highly_ improbable."

"Well, there you go, Alecto and Amycus," Snape sighed.

"That's it, Severus? What are we to do? No students have come forward, the detention records have all but disappeared, you have disallowed us from accessing the student's medical records, and this rumor will cause dissention and chaos!" Alecto shrilly cried. "If there _is_ a 'Master of Memory,' it is Astoria Greengrass!" she pointed accusatorially. Astoria took a deep breath and closed her mind once again.

"What do you have to say to these accusations, Miss Greengrass?" Snape drawled.

"I am offended that my mentors would think me capable of such disobedience," Astoria smoothly replied, beginning to feel a tickle at the back of her neck. Someone was trying to use Legilimency against her.

"Is there any founding to these accusations, Miss Greengrass?"

"She has been alone with students and finished them up! That must be when she placed the memory charm on them!" Amycus shouted.

"Let Miss Greengrass answer," Snape nearly rolled his eyes. Astoria thought that it must have been tiring for a man as smart as Snape to work with psychotic and imbecilic fanatics all day before she closed her mind. "Do you deny being alone with the students, during which time you could have placed a memory charm on them?" Snape asked.

"I do not deny being alone with the students," Astoria replied. "But as far as charms go, I am not very proficient. Ask Professor Flitwick," she added for good measure.

"Miss Greengrass, could you please tell me the incantation for a basic memory charm?" Astoria allowed her mind to open up just the slightest amount as she flipped through spell names, appearing to think very hard on the question.

"Erm… perhaps _Olviderate?_" she guessed. The answer, of course, was _Obliviate_. Snape sighed.

"Alecto, Amycus, please see if you can find Professor Flitwick and bring him here," Snape requested. Astoria leaned back in her chair impatiently and let her mind wander to the most mundane thoughts, even though she felt the prickle in the back her head. She could feel Snape quietly shifting through her mind. Sometimes he try and grasp a more dangerous thought but she would quickly begin thinking of summer, or different ways to style her hair, and perhaps she ought to paint her nails… all very mundane or insipid thoughts that Snape grew tired of and eventually the tingling sensation at the back of her neck stopped.

"Professor Flitwick, my apologies for taking up your time," said Snape completely unapologetically. "We have but a quick question. Could you please tell me Miss Astoria Greengrass' abilities in charms?" Astoria's chair was magically turned around to face the short professor. Snape and the Carrows stood behind her, waiting for a response.

"Why this curiosity, Severus?" Flitwick inquired, wringing his hands.

"Miss Greengrass has been accused of some crimes that involve an advanced knowledge of charm work," Snape replied.

"What sort of crimes?" the professor asked, knowing that his idea of a crime was much different than that of the Carrows.

"Crimes regarding memory tampering and erasure, Filius," Snape drawled. "Now, will you please tell us if you think Miss Greengrass could be capable of such crimes?"

Astoria looked at Flitwick and he studied her carefully. He seemed sad for a moment and Astoria's eyes went wide for a split second. She used to be his top student. Would he tell? Or would he keep silent? Astoria looked at her professor, desperately hoping he would do the latter, and Flitwick heavily sighed.

"Miss Greengrass barely passed my class last year and she will be lucky to pass her O.W.L. exam this year," Flitwick shook his head.

"So you think she is incapable?"

"I would look for someone more skilled in charm work than Miss Greengrass," Flitwick nodded his head. "Is that all?"

"Yes Filius, you may go," Snape said and Astoria smiled at the Charms professor with her eyes before her chair was wheeled around to face Snape and the Carrows.

"Give her Veritaserum," Alecto breathed.

"This issue is a non-issue, Alecto," said Snape with boredom. "You would be wise to let it go. It is but a rumor and you have no proof against Miss Greengrass."

"I take no offense, professors," Astoria said innocently. Alecto forced a smile and Astoria forced one back.

"You have a class to teach, do you not, Alecto and Amycus?" The two teachers gave the Headmaster simpering smiles and slunk out of the office. "Wait a moment, Miss Greengrass," Snape requested and Astoria froze in the chair she sat in. "Look at me," Astoria slowly rose her gaze from her shoes and met Snape's hard, dark eyes. There was a long pause and Astoria kept her mind blank and eyes unreadable. However, she saw something flicker past Snape's gaze. Bitterness? Sadness? Regret? She hardly knew what. "You would be wise, Miss Greengrass," said Snape, turning his back to her, "to practice a little discretion. Leave." With a flick of his wand, Snape's door flung open and Astoria needed no further encouragement to walk briskly from the room.

* * *

"Doing anything special for the Spring Holidays?" Alec Summerby asked her during Dark Arts. He had been unusually quiet to her after the Valentine's Day debacle and she was just trying to keep things from becoming awkward.

"No, I am going home, that is all," she responded. After a moment, she added, "And you?" (She found that he sighed less when she was at least civil toward him.)

"Home, I guess, if it's still standing," he shrugged. "My brother's an Auror. They are not well-liked nowadays, apparently." Astoria eyed Summerby carefully. "What is it?" he asked, finally looking up.

"Nothing, never mind," Astoria shook her head. They worked in silence.

"How can you stomach it?" Summerby finally asked. "How can you listen to their screams? How can you sleep at night? Do you have any idea how much innocent blood is on your hands?" he hissed at her angrily. "I can't believe… I can't believe I could even overlook that. Michael Corner… you… I thought… I thought you were a good person, Astoria. But there comes a time when you need to pick a side. You can't be a puppet forever. You—" he at last stopped when he met Astoria's gaze to find her blinking back tears.

"I cannot stomach it. I cannot bear to hear their screams because I know their pain. I rarely sleep at night. If I do, I still can hear them scream. I am the cause of so much pain, so many scars, so much blood. I know the crimes I have committed. It is enough for a hundred lives in Azkaban. I am surprised you could overlook that because I am not good person.

"Right now, there are no sides. It is just survival. I hate being a puppet. And it kills me to know that there is no end in sight, not any time soon, anyway," Astoria said to Summerby, looking him directly in the eye. "I do not know how this war will end. I do not know how I will come out of this. And right now I am seriously contemplating removing this memory from your mind, but I inexplicably trust you. Considering I am a skeptic, a cynic, and a mistrustful in general, that is saying something. So I am asking you for a favor, Summerby. Please do not hate me for what I have done. If you are going to hate me, hate me for who I am."

Alec Summerby looked at her in stunned awe before he slowly nodded his head.

"Thank you," Astoria said, smiling a small, crooked grin. "Thank you."


	11. Chapter 9: Collateral Damage and

_Author's Note: Kind of a short chapter and a bit late, but I'm quite satisfied with the writing so I will hand it over to you all. I am pretty much convinced that I have the best reviewers ever. Last chapter, I received 14 reviews... whaaaaaat? That's so many! I was positively blown away! If you can, try not to send an anonymous review so I can respond to you and all thank you. Anyway, I don't know when the next chapter will be up. I have three weeks left of school and things are getting kind of crazy, so don't freak out and think I've abandon you forever if you don't hear from me in awhile. Thanks for all your encouragement and enjoy!_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 9: Collateral Damage and Conscious Destruction_

Forget Little Greengrass—fucking blasé Blaise Zabini was going to be the death of them all.

The Slytherins decided that it was a great night to drink. Actually, the older Slytherins considered most weekend nights a good time to drink because they could at least claim selective memory. Draco enjoyed forgetting the spidery fingers of the Dark Lord, his father's haggard face, and the twinkling blue eyes of That Old Coot as he stood wandless on the Astronomy Tower that night in sixth year… anyway, it was a good night to drink. The Firewhiskey burned all the way down and Draco never had that burning feeling. Come to think of it, he felt cold all the time.

"_Frigid_," Pansy would whisper in his ear when she grew angry, "like some damn iceberg—immobile, hard, and so bloody cold."

However, Pansy was all too familiar with the game of hot and cold. Recently, Draco found himself next to her and he remembered why he had been with her for so long before. She was convenient and blindly loyal; it was easy to take advantage of her in so many ways. He would wake up with her inky black hair sprawled across the pillow, shove her awake, and order her to get dressed and leave. Her eyes would flash at him angrily, but she would quickly find someone else to occupy her time with. She fixed her eyes on Blaise Zabini and happily flirted with him as Daphne Greengrass stood off to the side and did everything but look at them, even though Blaise tossed smiles Daphne's way. What was even more sick was that Pansy would come back. She could laugh, leer, and simper around Blaise and then lose her knickers in Draco's tangled sheets.

Draco smirked. They were a mighty fucked up bunch. And that was one more reason why it was an excellent night to drink: at least they could be shamelessly fucked up while getting fucked up.

No one noticed Little Greengrass creep down the stairs and ask her sister something until Daphne cried, "Mystical Merlin, Tori, you've read it three times!" Blaise, who was chatting up some younger Slytherin, turned around and called out, "Greengrass!" as if they were the best mates in the entire world. Little Greengrass froze before slowly turning around.

"Zabini," she said carefully.

"Greengrass, Greengrass. Come to join our party? Have a drink."

"She just turned sixteen, Blaise," Daphne said huffily.

"If I recall, that never stopped you, _mi amore_," Blaise winked and Daphne scowled prettily. "Come over here, Greengrass."

"No," Astoria said warily before turning to her sister and asking some question.

"It's under my bed," Daphne responded to her sister, rolling her eyes.

"Greengrass…" Blaise sung.

"_What_, Zabini?" Little Greengrass spun around, eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Come over here," he repeated.

"Why?" Blaise seemed to consider Little Greengrass' query for a moment.

"Excellent question," he mused. "I'll come to you." He smirked and strode over to the wide-eyed fifth year, placing a hand at the small of her back. She skittered aside, Nott clenched his hand, and Daphne chewed on her lip. "I've been thinking," Blaise mused out loud so that the entire room could hear him, ignoring all the subtle reactions around him.

"That is a first," Little Greengrass muttered under her breath as she took slow steps backward.

"Cheeky," Blaise grinned. "But anyway, I was thinking about the power dynamics of Hogwarts. It is, you must admit, at least an interesting matter for one to think about."

"I will concede that," Little Greengrass said carefully.

"And I beg that you must amuse me, Greengrass. I fear Firewhiskey makes me quite philosophical or introspective sometimes and I find that I am now in that _mood_," he said with a slightly suggestive wink. Little Greengrass gulped, realizing that she was rather cornered. "You will indulge me, will you not, Greengrass?" Nott, who was sitting on the other side of the room, rose smoothly and calmly, as cool and calculated as a cheetah selecting their prey. Draco stuck his arm out to prevent Nott from creeping any closer.

"Be quick," she said quietly, growing visibly shaken with the eyes of the common room on her.

"Leave her alone, Blaise," Daphne begged.

"Daphne, _mi amore_, you are so much prettier when you keep those lovely, luscious lips of yours sealed up tight," Blaise said dismissively, bitterness dripping from his every word as he refused to look at the blonde Greengrass. He did not see her green eyes fill with tears and her turn away to find somewhere solitary to cry. "Anyway, as I was saying, Greengrass," he continued, placing a hand on the wall he had backed up Little Greengrass to, "I was pondering the power dynamics of Hogwarts. And you are a bright girl. I thought you would be interested in my conclusions."

"I would have to beg to differ," Little Greengrass said coolly, staring at the floor.

"There's no need to be difficult," Blaise said smoothly, his eyes meeting Little Greengrass' gaze. "You said you would indulge me."

"If you were quick," she added sternly. "And you are taking your time, you slimy, supercilious sloth." Blaise laughed at her.

"Oh Greengrass, you confirm my conclusions," he shook his head merrily.

"What conclusions?" she immediately asked. The Little Greengrass Brat was almost too predictable.

"Well, if you are patient enough to allow me to explain…"

"Just get on with it, Zabini," she scowled. All eyes in the room were on them.

"Alright," he sighed languidly, "but you must help me."

"I thought you had all the answers," she crossed her arms.

"I do—I just enjoy messing with you, Greengrass."

"Sodding slimeball."

"Who is the most powerful person at Hogwarts by title?" he asked without missing a beat.

"Snape," she responded just as quickly, eager to get the game over with.

"But Snape is not here often, so who then runs things when he's not around?"

"The Heads of the Houses. Technically."

"Technically?"

"They are powerless compared to the Carrows," she added in a hushed tone.

"Precisely my thoughts, Greengrass. In fact, Snape does little to stop them. I would go so far as to say that _they_ wield most of the power at Hogwarts. Would you agree with this statement?"

"For the purpose of this discussion, yes."

"Now tell me, Greengrass, who has leverage over the Carrows?"

"Snape."

"Besides Snape."

"Other… Death Eaters," she said quietly.

"Think smaller, Greengrass. Who, within these walls, can actually make the Carrows listen to them?" Blaise asked and Little Greengrass silently pondered his question before responding:

"Dumbledore's Army."

"_Interesting_, I must say. I will have to agree in part," Blaise continued, obviously enjoying the attention of the common room fixed on him. "The Old Coot's Army has captured their attention, but not of late. Who else, then?" Little Greengrass looked at Blaise blankly.

"I do not know what you are insinuating, Zabini."

"_You_ talked the Carrows out of a 'supplementary lesson.' _You_ have been on the other side of their persuasions and yet, how they dote on _you_! Oh, perhaps you had a little tiff, but all has been forgiven since _you_ helped them with Mr. Corner. _You_ are their precious pet—indeed, any other seventh year could do the job, nay, any other Slytherin, yet they have fixed their eyes on _you_, some baby fifth year with traitors for parents. They give _you_ the benefit of the doubt, a pat on the head, and probably lick their chops thinking about your left arm," Blaise purred. All of the common room stood still. "When it comes down to it, _you_ are the student with the most power around here. And funny how that works, considering how few people know your name, _Astoria_."

She was as white as a ghost, making her freckles visible to Draco from across the room. This time, he did not stop Nott when he began to walk across the room to free Greengrass. However, Blaise was quick, grabbing Little Greengrass by the waist, shoving her aside, and telling her it was well past her bedtime. Little Greengrass tumbled into the arms of Warren Macnair (the son of a well-known Death Eater), who suddenly eyed her with interest. Macnair was as slippery as his father and he was less than pleased when Little Greengrass pulled herself from his grip, his hands reluctantly leaving her hips. She dashed upstairs and the party resumed as if nothing happened. Nott's hand shook.

When the boys stumbled back upstairs, Crabbe and Goyle immediately passed out on their beds and began to snore while Nott paced the room, Blaise laughed at some joke to himself, and Draco eyed them warily.

"Well done, Zabini," Nott said coolly.

"I know, I am a paragon of perfection," Zabini sighed. "Everything I do is well done."

"Including outing our secret weapon. Indeed, well done."

"Your meaning, per usual, alludes me, Nott. Do explain," Blaise propped his chin on hand and flashed a drunken smile.

"Astoria Greengrass was our one chance to get through this year. She was our spy, the bearer of our darkest secrets, and our 'in' with the Carrows. All we asked her to do was be invisible and you pulled down the curtain. She cannot be a spy if everyone can see her. She cannot hold our secrets if everyone is trying to get a piece of her. And she cannot be our 'in' with the Carrows if everyone else knows that she is the competition. So yes, well done, Zabini," Nott barely contained his rage. "You damned Astoria by bringing her into this mess and now you have slit her throat with a double-edged blade. We cannot do this any longer. It is every man for himself."

And suddenly, Draco realized that the Greengrass Debacle was resolved… or so he thought at the time.

Blaise grew pale and was in the loo most of the night, hurling the contents of his stomach into a toilet. Nott perused a book for a few minutes before turning off his light and falling asleep. Draco, however, remained awake for a long time, turning and turning everything over his head and thinking that the way they got by was probably the way they were going to die.

* * *

"We can no longer band together," Theo Nott whispered to Astoria in the library. He had come out of nowhere and nearly caused her to yelp in surprise. The lack of sleep rendered her exhausted. The Carrows had been fully utilizing her _services_ as of late and even in her dreams she heard screaming… that was, if she managed to fall asleep at all. Their names haunted her: Lavender Brown, Susan Bones, Anthony Goldstein, Neville Longbottom (now three times), Michael Corner, and the most recent was Nigel Wespurt, a fourth year Gryffindor whose loyalty to Potter got him in trouble.

"What do you mean, Theo?" Astoria asked once she had collected herself.

"Zabini blew your cover. It is not safe anymore," he said and it took Astoria a few moments to realize what he was talking about.

"Why?" Astoria asked, puzzled. Theo moaned in exasperation and Astoria looked at him crossly, demanding an explanation.

"Zabini was right that you hold a lot of power with the Carrows. However, Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and I hold sufficient power too, but when everyone realizes this, our every move will be scrutinized even more than it already is now. Just trust me on this, Astoria." She looked at him blankly—both he and she knew that she could not trust him.

"So that is that, then? We disband and go back to self-preservation?" Astoria asked, her voice wavering for a moment. "Theo, they will fucking eat me _alive_," her voice choked up as she stared daggers at him. Theo Nott looked at her with his cool, muted brown eyes. His fingers—piano hands, her mother would call them—danced along the spine of a book before his hand dropped to his side.

"Well, I am sorry," he said with the same airy callousness as one remarks that the sky is blue. Astoria leaned against the bookshelf and fought back bitter tears. She was really in over her head now.

* * *

"Thank goodness there is only a week until the spring holidays," murmured Daphne as she brushed Astoria's hair. It comforted Daphne for some reason, so Astoria condescended to sit still. She did not remark on her sister's comment. A finger trailed down her spine, clipping along every vertebra. "You're too skinny, Tori. We need to go home, back to the Lake District, back to the Estate. You're happiest there, you know? Dop will help us cook and hopefully the weather will be decent. You can go on nice, long walks, you can read all the books you want, and the Carrows will be far, far away. That way, maybe you can eat and sleep a little better," Daphne continued in her sweet, melodic voice as Astoria blinked back the tears that burned in her eyes.

* * *

Draco hated Little Greengrass and he had a damn good reason to. Sodding Blaise Zabini was the one to figure it out and now Draco positively resented Little Greengrass: the Carrows had chosen _her_, the daughter of traitors, to become their protégé, not even a real Death Eater like himself, Blaise, Crabbe, or Goyle… but mostly himself.

Draco had not resigned himself to failure quite yet. He managed to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts Castle sixth year, but failed to kill That Old Coot, so the Dark Lord was still rather angry. But he had recently earned the praises of the Carrows (thanks to the tips from Greengrass… _the bothersome bint_), and his father owled him to say that the Dark Lord was pleased with his progress. Now all he had to do was something truly glorious and perhaps the Malfoys could be redeemed. He always kept his ears out for any news of Potter or uprisings… anything that could help The Cause.

Survival seemed manageable, but now he had to focus on thriving. And in order to do so, Little Greengrass had to go down. There was a slight hitch, though. Little Greengrass had too much dirt on him, and that prevented him from completely annihilating her. Instead, it had to be a slow destruction… mind games.

_"Are your parents well? Oh, pardon me, I had forgotten for a moment that they are walking target signs. I would then assume, then, that they are unwell?"_

_"Greengrass, heard of your uncle as of late? It would be quite a shame if anything happened to your last family member other than your sister, would it not? Who would take care of you? Oh, that is right—no one would. You would be all _alone_."_

_"Oh, another house raid. Say, Greengrass, how are the wards around your estate?"_

Her responses were always silent, icy cold glares that grew frantic and paranoid.

_"The Snatchers found more traitors this weekend. This time, it was a couple who had escaped to avoid doing Their Duty. From what I heard, they were tortured with the Cruciatus, quite systematically dismembered, and then the Dementors had at them… oh yes, they kept them just barely alive to have their soul sucked out first. But not even then did they kill them. They killed the woman first—well, 'killed' is strong. She drowned in her own blood. And the man… well, they used the Cruciatus on him until his heart completely stopped. I doubt their bodies will ever be found."_

Greengrass almost lost her lunch after that charming tale.

It was almost too easy. He knew exactly how to push her buttons and hurt her the most after all he learned from teaching her Occlumency. Little Greengrass stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped talking, and even the Carrows began to belittle her for her less than stellar performance.

She took every single punch with defeated grace. And sometimes—although it was usually a drunken thought or a thought right before he drifted off to sleep (which did not really count anyway because that could not be considered a lucid thought)—he wished he was as brave as she was and wondered how she took it without wanting to throw herself off the Astronomy Tower... because he suddenly found that prospect rather appetizing.

* * *

"Astoria, right?" Warren Macnair asked in the hallway as she bustled from one class to another. He gave Astoria the chills and not in a good way. He always appeared to be leering at whoever he talked to and was a prolific volunteer in the Carrows' classes, always with the correct answer or wanting to practice a particularly gruesome spell. When he touched her the night that Zabini cornered her, she had never wanted to take a shower so badly.

"That is what my friends call me. So, you may call me Greengrass," she responded primly, hoping to evade the conversation.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," he slowly licked his lips.

"I think it will."

"I'm Warren Macnair," he said his last name with an air of importance. "I'm in your year, we've had a couple of classes together."

"Undoubtedly," Astoria said, refusing to look at him.

"Alright, I see you would rather I get to the point," he halted in front of her.

"Actually, I must be off to class, so if you will excuse me…"

"I need a good word in with the Carrows."

"I am not the person to be asking," Astoria said carefully while attempting to get around him.

"But you are, Zabini said so and it makes sense. The Carrows listen to you. You have to point me out to them, you have to—"

"You are mistaken, Macnair. I do not take orders from you. Who do you think you are?"

"The son of a Death Eater eager to follow the footsteps of his father. You _will_ help me, Greengrass, or I swear to Merlin, I will make your life _hell_."

"I have heard that threat so many times that it has lost all luster," Astoria said with a bored tone. "Sod off, Macnair," she snapped, "before I do something to you that I will not regret."

"You stupid _bint_," Macnair hissed, grabbing her arms and dragging her around to a secluded corridor where he shoved her against the stone wall. Astoria tried to grab her wand, but he held her too tight. She tried to scream, but he performed a quick Silencing Charm on her. There was no one around as he pinned her to the wall, his pelvis grinding into her, as he hissed his orders with their faces nearly touching. "Here's what's going to happen, Greengrass. You are going to tell the Carrows how I am the perfect Pureblood, truly faithful to the Dark Lord and His Cause. You will tell them that I deserve to be a Death Eater and then they will be compelled to tell Him of my progress. He will reward me with what I want, I will make my father proud, put the Malfoys and the Notts to shame, and we will all live happily ever after. Maybe, Greengrass, I will even reward you for your good deeds," he added huskily, one of his hands dropping to touch the skin of her leg near the edge of her skirt.

Just then, there was a loud bang as Macnair flew off of her and into another wall where his body hit the stone with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground like a rag doll and proceeded to scream as spell after spell hit him, creating bruises, cuts, and probably broken bones. Astoria was bewildered and stood frozen, too scared to find out what exactly was happening. It was then that Theo Nott appeared in her vision, stored his wand away, and delivered a punch to Macnair that broke most of the bones in Theo's hand and smashed in Macnair's nose. Only then did he turn around to look at Astoria. He swiftly walked over to her and gathered her in his arms.

Astoria was normally wary of human contact in general, but she was so scared and shaken that she needed to be held. Theo Nott was there and he had saved her and so she buried herself in his lanky frame.

"I know I said that we could not band together, but _Merlin_, Astoria, you… you have to trust me. I am going to be here for you. Damn it, I refuse to let you—" he rushed on inarticulately until McGonagall shrilly yelled:

"What happened here?" By then, they had gathered a crowd and everyone pointed and whispered. "Mr. Nott, what happened to Mr. Macnair?" Theo, one arm still wrapped protectively around Astoria's shoulders, pondered her question for a moment before responding:

"He tripped." Snickers rang out.

"Mr. Nott…" McGonagall glared at the seventh year. Theo raised his eyebrows in amusement before pulling Astoria along, walking away from the Head of Gryffindor. "Mr. Nott! Mr. Nott! You will come back this instant!"

"Punish me as you see fit, professor. Although I would have thought that _you_ of all witches would recognize a little chivalry," Nott simpered.

After then, everyone knew that if they were going to mess with Astoria Greengrass, they had to go through Theodore Nott first.

* * *

Everything changed after that. Malfoy could not get to her with his cruel remarks when Theo was at her side. It had been terrible to tolerate his brutality in silence, but she knew he was only doing it out of vindictiveness—Astoria knew that he wanted her spot as the Carrows' pet in order to redeem himself to his Master. Honestly, it wasn't hard to get to her at that point: it was easy to see that she was falling apart. The ease of February lulled her into comfort, only to be struck hard by the month of March.

Merlin, she _hated _Malfoy. This was the man-boy who gave her no choice but to follow him to Filch's office—she placed her hand on his arm and nearly blindly followed him through the corridor, and only his ragged breathing reminded her that she was not following a ghost. The mere thought of it sent shivers down her spine. His callous cruelty—his dramatic outbursts of indignation—the conflict and tension in his every move—Astoria could not for the life of her figure out Malfoy. She wanted to… and yet she _didn't_. Perhaps he was just a monster… but perhaps he was just as scared as the rest of them. Astoria didn't know and she hated not knowing. The Malfoy Factor was both a constant and a variable: constant because he persisted in making her life complicated and variable in that she never knew his next move. At least now she knew where Theo stood, and she knew that it cost him dearly.

Theo and Tracey Davis argued one night. Astoria had accidently kicked one of her schoolbooks under the couch in the common room and had ducked behind the green furniture to retrieve the volume when she heard hushed voices enter the room.

"Tracey, I can explain."

"You can, but you won't, Theo." Astoria remained hidden, not daring to move a muscle behind the couch as the muted conversation continued.

"Tracey—"

"_No_, you listen to _me_," the half-blood Slytherin demanded. "You know where Greengrass stands—she's the Carrows' fucking protégé and when you stand by her and she stands by them, you stand by them too. And so don't you _dare_ fucking think you can play Merlin and tell _me_ how I feel about that, because you have no right, Theo. You have no fucking _right_." There was a long silence before Astoria heard Theo's deep sigh.

"She is sixteen years old."

"As if you care about her age," she scoffed. "That never meant anything before. Who… who _are_ you? And what the hell is it about Astoria Bloody Greengrass that makes you give a troll's arse what happens to her? You're Theodore Nott—you take care of yourself and that's that."

"This is war."

"Are you fucking… are you fucking _joking_ with me now?" Davis asked, bitterness dripping from her every word. "I think I _realize_ that there's a war going on right now, Theo. In case you haven't noticed, the only reason why I haven't been in that dungeon—either torturing or being tortured—is because I'm in Slytherin. One day, they'll go after Fiona—"

"Tracey—"

"You know it'll happen sometime or another," she snapped. "One day, they'll go after Fiona, and I will fucking _turn_ and it's not going to be pretty. And I thought…" she paused, the air heavy with tension. "…and I thought I would at least have _you_ for leverage. But _no_, you chose Astoria Greengrass." Astoria heard feet shuffle.

"I have my reasons," Theo said ever-so-softly.

"I bet you do," Davis retorted with the typical Slytherin coolness. "I thought… for a second, I actually thought that I had you figured out, Theo."

"You know who I am, Tracey," Theo said desperately. There was a long silence.

"I do," Tracey said sadly and softly. "You're the son of a notorious Death Eater." Astoria could hear Theo gulp—then, the rustling of fabric.

"Look at my arm. Damn it, Tracey, _look_ at it," Theo begged. There was a moment of silence before he sharply breathed in.

"I know. It's empty. But it's only a matter of time before you have to pick a side, Theo," Davis said and Astoria heard the sound of unfolding fabric. "And if you're with her, you're against me." Astoria bit her lip.

"Tracey," Theo began in that annoying and infuriatingly 'reasonable' tone of his.

"When all the Muggleborns are gone, who do you think they'll go after next?" Davis asked with calm resignation. "Me," Davis answered her own question. "They will go after me, and my sister, and all the rest of 'my kind.' And when you're with Greengrass, and when the Carrows have her tied to a leash, she'll drag you down to whatever hell the Carrows lead her to. And then someday, it'll be you and I in that dungeon and—" Davis choked back a sob. "You know everything, Theo, so I think you know how the story ends."

"You leave, informing me that I am never to speak to you again. Maybe you will add a few curse words, if you are feeling particularly churlish, just to make your point abundantly clear. But there will be no need, because I understand your meaning perfectly." Theo's voice was smooth, even, and completely void of emotion.

"Good," Davis nodded and left. Astoria heard Theo settle onto a couch and after a minute of silence, she heard him call out:

"Astoria…?" She winced and crawled out from the couch, knowing that she looked like a unicorn caught in an open meadow.

"My book… it fell… and then you came in and I did not mean… I did not mean to…" Theo held up a hand to stop her. "I am…" an apology was at the tip of her tongue when Theo forcefully interrupted her.

"Astoria, do not push it. Do not push _me_," he scowled, turning to face the fireplace.

"You did not have to…" Astoria found herself whispering, her eyes falling to the floor.

"You are so bloody _clueless_, Astoria," Theo growled before standing up and leaving the room, confusing Astoria more than ever. Yet, he patiently waited for her in the common room the next morning and walked her to the Great Hall for breakfast, idly remarking about Aristotle's theories on _mythos _and _ethos_. Astoria picked at her eggs.

* * *

"There's room for Astoria in here, yes?" Daphne asked, but with a smile that told them that she was not really asking and that her younger sister was to join them in the tiny cabin regardless. Little Greengrass peered in the cabin sleepily as the Hogwarts Express chugged to London for the spring holidays. Her trousers buckled at the waist from where a belt kept the fabric from sliding down her hips and the black jumper she wore seemed oddly oversized.

"I suppose so," Blaise drawled, his eyes running over the younger Greengrass girl. "I mean, she turns sideways and practically disappears." Draco smirked in agreement. He and Blaise had gotten chummier lately since Nott decided he was going to side with Greengrass. Besides, Blaise was a far better mate: better to drink with, better to talk to, and certainly better entertainment. Blaise was uncomplicated, but unlike simpletons Crabbe and Goyle. Nonetheless, the Zabini boy had his own issues—they were all a little fucked up—but there was no need to address these problems. Blaise was bitter—what for, Draco did not know and did not care.

Greengrass did not bat an eye at Blaise's comment and squeezed in between Theo and Daphne, resting her head on her sister's shoulder. Daphne pressed a kiss on Little Greengrass' forehead. The older Greengrass girl's pink lips pouted in worry and Blaise's mocking glance disappeared before he looked out the window. Pansy scowled and played with the hem of her skirt. Crabbe fixed his eyes on Pansy's thighs while Nott pulled out a book, oblivious to or comfortable with Little Greengrass' feet burrowed under his leg for warmth. Millicent Bullstrode was silent, like always, and narrowed her eyes at Pansy. Goyle seemed oddly pink and his eyes kept on going from the fifth year squashed in the seat across from him and the floor. Both Little Greengrass' bony shoulder protruding from her jumper and the brown carpet seemed equally interesting. Tracey Davis was noticeably absent.

Draco wondered how he did not notice these little things before. The Slytherins were a goldmine of loose ends to pick at. He had all of the holidays to plan and plot. Then, he would return to Hogwarts a new man.

* * *

Astoria stirred as the train slowed to a halt. Theo gave her a cursory glace as she pulled out her feet from under his legs. He yamked down her trunk gave her a nod as if to say take care and left. Somehow, she was expected him to say something, something important or comforting, but he never did. Then again, that was how Theo operated, she supposed.

Platform 9 and ¾ at King's Cross Station was quiet and grey. Astoria and Daphne pulled up their cloak hoods, grabbed their trunks, walked out onto the platform, and Daphne quickly Disapparated them to the Greengrass Estate. The sensation of Apparation was quite uncomfortable, but the feeling of grass under her feet and the smell of spring in the air assured Astoria that they had reached their destination. When she opened her eyes, the girls stood at the border of their property, at the bottom of the hill where the house stood. A stone arch with a bell marked the entrance to the property. When they rang the bell, the sound travelled up the hill and within seconds, they heard a faint pop and their house elf, Dop, stood before them.

"Mistress Daphne and Mistress Astoria! Dop is so very pleased that the young ladies are home for the holidays! Dop has spent all week preparing for their arrival. But Dop failed to put tea on for his favorite mistresses, so Dop will do that right away and then Dop will hit himself with the kettle to punish himself for being bad."

Astoria was not in the mood to deal with the house elf's self-mutilating tendencies.

"That will not be necessary, Dop," Daphne tiredly reassured the elf. "You will not punish yourself for not putting tea on. Instead, please just take our trunks to our rooms."

"Mistress Daphne is so kind to Dop, even though he is a very, very bad house elf!" the creature squeaked before obeying Daphne's commands. Astoria began the trek up the hill, too tired to say much.

The house was empty, as to be expected. However, there was a note in the sitting room in Uncle Alastair's hand and two parcels.

_Astoria and Daphne—_

_Things are growing increasingly worse. Every day we see our friends among those listed as missing or dead in _The Prophet_. Hence, it is unwise for us to threaten your well-being by going to the Estate unless it be necessary for our survival. We feel our presence would only make things more difficult for you at school. Please take care of yourselves and have these gifts, although they are no substitution for family._

_Sincerely,_

_Alastair Greengrass_

_P.S. Victor sends his love._

Astoria smiled and opened the parcel with her name on it. Inside were three books bound together and a note from Alastair explaining that these were among his favorite books by Muggle authors. Astoria warily peered over the volumes: _Heart of Darkness_ by Joseph Conrad, _Catch-22 _by Joseph Heller, and _1984_ by George Orwell.

Astoria took the latter title and brought it into the kitchen, where Dop laid out a plate of scones and the kettle was about to whistle. Astoria poured herself a cup of tea, placed a few of the scones onto a separate plate, and then made her way to her father's study to settle into his chair. The room still smelled like old books, scotch, and cigar smoke. It was a small comfort. She cracked open the spine, took a sip of tea, picked up a scone, and began to read:

_It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen…_

* * *

It was an overcast, but oddly humid day in late March and the grand old ebony clock in the hallway struck 5:00 when Draco walked in the door of the Malfoy Manor. Nott Senior stood in the hallway, his grey-brown eyes flicking toward the blonde. Draco nodded his head as greeting and Nott Senior turned away, briskly walking down the hallway. Nott Senior, like his son, was a rather unsettling man. He pushed through a door and seconds later, Draco's mother exited that door, seeming to wonder why Nott Senior was in such a rush. She then turned around, a blonde lock falling across her shoulder, and saw her son standing in the hallway. Her body seemed to visibly relax for a moment and then she walked demurely toward her son, embracing him perhaps tighter than usual.

"You are well?" Narcissa Malfoy asked quietly in her son's ear.

"Yes mother," Draco said.

"Be careful," she whispered and then released him. Draco was puzzled by her words but did not show it—neither did his mother, who ordered Pettigrew to take Draco's trunk up to his room. Pettigrew only obeyed after grimacing and throwing a rather lurid look at Narcissa Malfoy. Draco's hand tightened over his wand. Just then, his father entered the room.

The first thing that Draco noticed about his father was that he looked exhausted. That was not to say that he appeared unkempt, but his face looked worn, gaunt, and ashen. The man's eyes held a glimmer of hope for a moment before they faded to their usual cool grey.

"Welcome home, son," he said and they all seemed to recognize the irony in his words. Just then, Death Eaters swarmed into the room in a buzz of low whispers and muffled cackles. Draco's eyes scanned over the Manor and realized that it was not his home, not while these men and women possessed it. It did not matter if they all had the same mark on their arms, nor did it matter that pure blood ran through all of their veins. These people were not Malfoys and they walked the Manor as if they owned the place.

Everything belonged to Him. Draco's house, his life, his family, his freedom… it all belonged to the Dark Lord.

"Tea?" his mother suggested and Draco nodded. The three walked shoulder to shoulder into the sitting room. The blondes sat down for the formal tradition and sipped their hot drinks, finding refuge in the small room for a moment. They could forget what was going on outside the double doors for a few minutes. Yes, it could wait.

As it turned out, Draco was right that he would board the Hogwarts Express in a week irrevocably changed. Though in all fairness, _everything_ was about to change. There was no escaping change's claws, no dodging its bite, and no evading its devastation.

Draco never lost sleep from his conscious destruction of Little Greengrass. She was merely collateral damage and he was her pernicious persecutor. But he never expected that he, a Malfoy, would end up on the other side of that equation. He did not anticipate the deaths that would follow, the defiance that would rip through the walls of Hogwarts, Mudblood Granger's screams filling the Manor, Weasley's bellows oozing from the dungeon, and Potter's unmistakable green eyes looking up at him. No, he did not expect it at all.

Hence, change. It was coming. And it was coming for all of them.


	12. Chapter 10: Failures and Falling

_Author's Note: EEEEEP! I am a horrible human being for not updating in an entire month! I very rarely do this but I got caught up with dead week and finals, then moving home, then starting work right away, and most recently getting sick from germy children. They are adorable, but very unsanitary. Anyway, I came home from work so tired that I could only write about a half a page per night and at long last, this is what I came up with. For following cannon, I think it's pretty good, but for some reason I feel apprehensive of this chapter. I'm probably just a little rusty._

_Anyway, two pieces of exciting news! Firstly, I was nominated for The Merlin Awards hosted by **misswhiteblack **for best multichapted Harry Potter fanfiction. I was super shocked and blown away when I found out-never before have I been so flattered to receive a nomination (Thank you **shiftingful**!- seriously, this author is the big kahuna of Draco/Astoria fanfics so it's such an honor)-and I was even more blown away when I saw what I was up against: "Caring Is Creepy" by Josephinee (the best Rose/Scorpius fanfiction I've ever read- I love the interpretation of these two 2nd Generation characters!) and "Anitpathy" by Shu of the Wind (another amazing Draco/Astoria fanfiction that is super awesome). Anyway, I made the long list and sometime a short list will come up and then you should vote! Not for me necessarily, but there are many categories and if you want something good to read, this contest definitely has a few in the competition. Example: "The Life and Times" by Jewels5. It is the best Lily/James story out there. It's a long (long long long) read, but once you're hooked, you can't stop. It's absolutely amazing. Oh, and for The Merlin Awards I think they are still accepting nominations so go to misswhiteback's profile and click on the link for more info on the contest._

_Secondly, I inspired one of my readers (I don't want to name the person in case they want their artwork kept private) to do a little bit of drawing related to "OTOS". My first thought? WOW! My second thought! COOL! I wish I could draw! Anyway, I'm artistically challenged and it got me thinking that a lot of people on this website aren't. I would love love love to have a "portrait" of Astoria done. If you're an artist, I would love to tell you how I invision Astoria and I would be greatly intrigued to see your interpretation of it! Artists, message me if you're interested!_

**_NOTE: In this chapter, parts in italic are taked directly from the canon, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, __chapter 23: Malfoy Manor_**

_And now I have nothing to say except read and review!_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 10: Failures and Falling_

He had not been home at the Malfoy Manor for very long when his ears started ringing. It would only last thirty seconds at a time perhaps two or three times per day, but it increased in length and consistency as the week dragged on. It started usually when anything happened in the Manor, whenever the Snatchers brought in anyone they thought was important. Sometimes it happened when his dear Auntie Bellatrix became bored and pulled Looney Lovegood out from the dungeons to have a little play date.

"Why don't you try, darling nephew Draco?" she would ask, spinning her wand as Looney curled up in the fetal position on the ground, quietly whimpering. He could never respond to his aunt and usually just left the room.

He hated being at the Manor even more than he hated being at Hogwarts. It was sickening to watch his home be overrun by Death Eaters who were more opportunistic than loyal. But it was far more sickening to watch his proud parents quietly endure it all. His father had been without a wand since the end of July and had taken to drinking and listlessly pacing the corridors in the absence of his magical abilities. He was practically a Squib without a wand—even Fenrir Fucking Greyback had a wand, so why not his father, head of the most powerful Pureblood family in all of England? And then there was his mother—his graceful, beautiful mother, one of the few Pureblood women who still had true class and natural aristocracy—she endured it all even more quietly than his father, but she was stronger in her silence. Her word was more respected above Lucius' and she at least had her sister, Bellatrix as an ally.

This quiet torment hardly helped the ringing in his head. Sometimes he would completely disconnect with the world because of the distracting ring. His mother would notice. His father was just intoxicated enough to not see. And the ringing continued, as did their suffering under the apathy of the Dark Lord.

* * *

The spring holidays were heaven to Astoria Greengrass. The horrors of Hogwarts faded as she consumed herself with the rolling hills of the Greengrass property, the gentle spring breezes that promised hope and happiness, and the volumes of books in the library that were so dear and familiar. She constantly poked her head in the kitchen to grab an extra bite to eat and she often fell asleep in her room with the light on and a book open. Dop the House Elf or Daphne came in her room many nights to place a ribbon in the spine of her book to mark her place, clear away the cups of tea and plates of snacks, pull up her covers, and turn off the light. Daphne would kiss her forehead and all was well.

One afternoon, Astoria put a record on—her favorite band, _Mandrakes and Sons_—and proceeded to hum quietly as she straightened up her room. Astoria had not noticed Daphne standing in the doorway until she discovered that her humming had been prettily harmonized. Daphne was always the more musical daughter and it bothered Astoria to no end when she was younger that Daphne could sing and play the piano so well. However, now that she was older, Astoria enjoyed hearing her sister's voice carry throughout the house. Soon, both girls were singing at the top of their lungs, jumping around the room, tossing blankets and pillows in the air, and bouncing on the bed. It was Daphne's fault, really—she tended to instigate these moments—and when the song ended, the girls flopped onto the bed in fits of giggles. Daphne's laugh was like bells and Astoria's laugh… well, it was always too loud and had a slightly mocking edge to it, even when she was truly joyous. When they gathered their composure and caught their breath, Daphne quietly whispered to Astoria:

"I do miss them."

Then, the room grew silent and they thought of their parents and how the house seemed so empty without them and what if they never came back?

But life went on. They breathed. They laughed. Sometimes Daphne cried. Sometimes Astoria would go on a walk for hours at a time. Daphne played the piano. Astoria read. They ate. They slept. Sometimes they slept side-by-side when the house felt too empty or too quiet. Daphne played the piano for Astoria. Astoria read poetry to Daphne. Sometimes Astoria held Daphne when she could not hold herself. Sometimes Daphne gently touched Astoria when her eyes would glaze over as she stared out the window. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they were silent. But they were together. They were alive. And for a moment, when the sun came up over the hills and lit up the sitting room in a golden glow, it was Paradise.

* * *

It was Hell.

He had been taking tea with his father when he heard his mother's shrill voice from down the hall. There were footsteps, many of them, and the drawing room door swung open. The chandelier glittered on the dark purple wall and his father and he immediately rose to see what the commotion was about.

_"What is this?_" his father asked in his usual drawl.

_"They say they've got Potter. Draco, come here," _his mother beckoned and Draco's ears began to ring. It had been happening more often, this ringing business. It was extraordinarily bothersome and it only happened when he grew stressed. Draco wanted to shake his head and get rid of the sound but it would do nothing and appear very silly and undignified. Instead, he concentrated on the task at hand… wait, did they say they had Potter? If it was Potter… Merlin, if it was Potter, they would be _saved_. Everything would be over. All the horror would end. But if it wasn't Potter… if it wasn't Potter and he thought it was Potter, it would bring a whole new variety of horror.

Fenrir Greyback, that appalling creature whose mere presence polluted the curtains of the Malfoy Manor and disgraced The Cause with his blood-thirsty beastliness, shoved the prisoners under the chandelier.

_"Well, boy?"_ the werewolf asked. Draco resented being called 'boy'—it was Mr. Draco Malfoy to that foul piece of unpure flesh—but Draco studied the face that was called into question. A huge, shiny, pink, and barely human visage peered up at him. Black hair touched the man's shoulders. The glasses looked familiar—rather Potter-esque, but the face… if only the person would just look at him! Then he would be able to tell. Suddenly, his mind wandered.

He remembered a few younger girls giggling about Potter's eyes one day. "So green!" they blushed. "Like… like… oh, like emeralds!" He looked away, trying to picture Potter's face—if it really was him, if he was absolutely sure, the Malfoys would be redeemed. But, when he tried to picture a pair of green eyes, he found a pair—not the right pair, but a pair nonetheless. A pale green, almost a grey-green or a lime green—wide eyes, cold and aloof, but intelligent, cunning, and haughty… Greengrass eyes. Astoria Greengrass' green eyes.

"_Well, Draco?" _asked his father with a hopeful lilt in his voice. _"Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"_ Draco felt his throat go tight and his ears continued to ring… (And suddenly, Little Greengrass was on the dungeon floor, curled up in a little ball, and clutching her left arm. When he grabbed that arm, her eyes were as stunning as the smooth, pale skin on her left forearm. She had no Mark. She shivered and he released her arm. Her green eyes fell to the floor.)…

…Where was Greengrass anyway? Probably home alone with her sister, waiting in vain for her parents to return, and listing the numerous reasons why her life was terrible. Because honestly, it sucked to be Little Greengrass. Well, if it sucked to be Little Greengrass, it sucked to be him. His ears continued to ring.

"_I can't—I can't be sure,"_ he backed away from the figure.

"_But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" _his father all but shoved him in front of the mysterious man. Draco didn't want to look at the person—what if it was Potter? Worse yet, what if it wasn't? And even more worse, what if he thought it was Potter and it wasn't? Or what if he thought it wasn't Potter and it was? Lucius Malfoy had more hope in his eyes than Draco had ever seen before. _"Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—"_

Forgiven. Saved. Redeemed. Over.

"_Now we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?"_ Greyback leered.

"_Of course not, of course not,"_ his father scowled, barely hiding his contempt under his excitement. Draco's father approached the figure and studied him. _"What did you do to him? How did he get into this state?"_

"_That wasn't us."_

"_Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," _his father mused before using his walking stick to poke at the person's forehead. _"There's something there. It could be the scar, stretched tight… Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"_ Draco dragged himself forward and leaned down to examine the person's face once again. Damn, his ears were ringing so loud, but suddenly he realized that it wasn't the normal sound of ears ringing—it sounded like a scream. It was Little Greengrass' scream. But she wasn't there at the Manor, was she? No, she was at her estate. That scream… it was like she was in the Hogwarts dungeons all over again, receiving the Cruciatus from Amycus Carrow repeatedly.

Perhaps Theo Nott was right: maybe there were no sides. Maybe they were all fucked, no matter what they did. It was Hell now and it was going to be Hell either way. He couldn't do it. No, he wouldn't do it. He was done, resigned. Potter could drop dead or he could live forever and it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't do any good. It wouldn't do any harm. They were all damned.

"_I don't know," _Draco finally managed to say and turned away to walk toward the fireplace. He stood by his mother, who spoke coolly.

"_We had better be certain, Lucius,_" she said. _"Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord… They say this is his"_—his mother examined the wand with incredulity—_"but it does not resemble Ollivander's description… If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"_

They screamed for hours. That's what He did to them.

"_What about the Mudblood, then?" growled Greyback._ The Snatchers tossed the so-called Potter aside and dragged forth the Mudblood.

"_Wait. Yes—yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter. I saw her picture in the _Prophet_! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"_

It was. It was Hermione Mudblood Granger. There was no mistaking that bushy mess of brown 'hair' and that stupid, know-it-all look hiding in her countenance.

"_I…maybe…yeah,"_ he responded dully.

"_But then, that's the Weasley boy!"_ cried his father, gesturing to a ginger. _"It's them, Potter's friends—Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name—?"_

Ron. Ronald Weasley, dumbass sidekick to Potter. Best fucking friends for life.

"_Yeah,"_ Draco turned around so he wouldn't have to look at them. _"It could be."_ Just then, his dear Auntie Bellatrix strode into the room.

"_What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"_ she asked sharply, prowling into the room like a black leopard with an insatiable hunger for prey. His dear Auntie Bellatrix nearly immediately fixed her eyes on Mudblood Granger. _"But surely," _she began quietly, which was usually a sign that she was already planning something, _"this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"_

"_Yes, yes, it's Granger!"_ Draco's father cried, growing more animated than Draco had seen his father be in months. _"And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"_ There was so much relief in his voice but Draco's ears just kept on ringing and he had a terrible premonition that there was a catch to their serendipity.

"_Potter?" _his dear Auntie Bellatrix shrieked and she quickly paced backward to look at Potter's face.

Because it was Harry Potter. Draco was positively sure and his tongue was stuck to the top of his mouth, his ears rang, and he was fucked either way. It was Potter, Harry Fucking Potter, The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die, his arch-nemesis, his enemy from the first day of their first year and he could not for the life of him say, "Yes, it is Potter." If he did, it would save them all. Perhaps. But when he looked at Potter for a split second, all he saw were green eyes, and Merlin damn it, this only made him think about Little Greengrass. Damn her. Damn Potter.

"_Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"_ his dear Auntie Bellatrix cried as she rolled up her sleeve to reveal her Dark Mark. Her Mark had always appeared brutally distinct against her pale skin—well, perhaps she deserved it more than any of the other Death Eaters.

"_I was about to call him!"_ Draco's father seized Bellatrix's arm. _"_I _shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority—"_

"_Your authority!"_ his dear Auntie Bellatrix's sneered with disdain. _"You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius!"_ All the blood drained from Draco's father's face with Bellatrix's words and Draco's ears began to ring louder. _"How dare you! Take your hands off me!"_

"_This is nothing to do with you,_" Lucius Malfoy began coolly, as if talking to a child,_ "you did not capture the boy—"_

"_Begging your pardon, _Mr. _Malfoy,"_ Fenrir Greyback began with equal condescension, _"but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold—"_

"_Gold!" _his dear Auntie Bellatrix shrilly cackled as she continued to shove Draco's father away. Her free hand searched for her wand as she continued to berate the werewolf. _"Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his—of—"_ His dear Auntie Bellatrix trailed off, her eyes fixed on something, and Draco's father went to press his finger to his own Mark. Draco saw what Bellatrix stared at—it was a sword, very expensive looking, with a pristine blade and a jeweled hilt. _"STOP!" _she shrieked to Lucius. _"Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"_ All looked at Bellatrix Lestrange in fear and confusion. Draco's father paused with his finger hovering above his Mark as Bellatrix strode across to the room to the Snatcher that held the sword. _"What is that?"_ she asked the Snatcher in disbelief.

"_Sword."_ They were really a bright bunch. His dear Auntie Bellatrix gave him an expression brimming with insults to his intelligence.

"_Give it to me."_

"_It's not yorn, missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it,"_ the Snatcher said, but no one ever said no to Bellatrix Lestrange unless they had a death wish. Draco cringed and waited for the telltale bang that meant his dearest aunt had Stunned him.

"_What d'you think you're playing at, woman?"_ sneered Scabior, the leader of the Snatchers. Truly, he was a one-of-a-kind idiot… did he _want _to die? It was four Snatchers against Bellatrix and for a witch of her skill, that was merely warming up. Three were down in an instant. She snatched up the sword and strode toward Fenrir Greyback, who she had forced to kneel.

"_Where did you get this sword?"_ she hissed as she yanked his wand away.

"_How dare you?" _the werewolf snarled. _"Release me, woman!"_

"_Where did you find this sword?"_ she repeated, spitting every word. _"Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"_ Draco wracked his mind to find meaning in this and he only came up with this: the Black family had been compromised. Hogwarts was no longer safe, neither was Gringotts, and neither was the Malfoy Manor.

"_It was in their tent,"_ Greyback protested. _"Release me, I say!"_ His dear Auntie Bellatrix actually complied, but the werewolf was too wary to further approach the witch. His filthy, curved nails slid against the back of an armchair and Draco knew his mother was making a mental note to have the House Elves scour that particular piece of upholstery later.

"_Draco, move this scum outside," _his dear Auntie Bellatrix gestured to the unconscious Snatchers on the floor. Draco nearly jumped when she said his name. _"If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."_ Draco inwardly cringed at her jab. Even now he could remember exactly what it was like to stand on the Astronomy Tower with an unarmed Dumbledore but feet away from him and thinking that he could not do it, that he could not kill the man, that he did not think he could kill anyone at all. He remembered that his ears rang just as they were doing now and he felt like he was going to choke, just as he did now.

"_Don't you dare speak to Draco like—"_ his mother began to protect him with a furious tone.

"_Be quiet! The situation is far graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"_ Bellatrix insisted to her sister, before slowly turning around to the prisoners, her heavily-lidded eyes abnormally open. _"If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself… But if he finds out… I must… I must know…"_ she murmured and Draco stared on, perplexed to see his aunt so visibly shaken. _"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!"_

"_This is my house, Bella,"_ Draco's mother began again, _"you don't give orders in my—"_

"_Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!"_ his dear Auntie Bellatrix shrieked, causing a thin stream of fire to eject from her wand and burn a hole in the carpet. His mother turned away from his aunt for a moment and Draco knew she was thinking things over. Taking orders from Bellatrix always meant walking a dangerous line, but it seemed like they had no choice. Eventually, his mother conceded and the prisoners were taken away—except for Mudblood Granger, who Bellatrix decided would be "questioned" first, as Dumb-arse Weasley begged for them to be switched. Draco took his hawthorn wand out of his pocket to levitate the men out to the courtyard. On the way out the door, he heard Granger scream and the terrible sound broke Draco's spell, causing the unconscious Snatchers to fall to the ground. Draco winced, steadied his stomach, and re-performed the spell.

He walked down the steps and into the courtyard. Deep red roses used to bloom there, but the flowers had faded before they even blossomed. The thorns, however, were relentless and the bushes consumed the yard. The flowers were limp and dull; the petals drifted on the ground. The pathway had not been swept in Merlin-knows-how-long and the whole place looked overrun, neglected, and haunted. His ears continued to ring as he looked at the men. He couldn't kill them. There was no point in even trying. Draco ground his teeth irately. Even from outside he could hear Granger scream. He tried to tell himself that she was a Mudblood, so she deserved it, but for some reason this did not satisfy his sense of justice—and that meant quite a lot, considering that particular sense was not exactly keen (Slytherin—it came with the territory). Well, she got in the Dark Lord's way and took something that was not hers—perhaps that merited the Cruciatus. Yes, that would do. Granger had it coming, running around with Potter and Weasley, and being a general, insufferable know-it-all.

So what did he have coming to him? He was a Death Eater—well, a failure of a Death Eater—and a Malfoy—well, a pathetic excuse for a Malfoy—and he was a Slytherin—well, a damn good Slytherin, but most people saw that as a bad thing. He was a good wizard. He was not the _best_ person in the world, but that was inconsequential. He was not, however, a _terrible_ person. He was no killer, he was a gentleman when it was advantageous, he was a picture of Pureblood aristocracy, and he was quite good looking, intelligent, and motivated. He helped out Greengrass. It had to mean something, right?

His ears continued to ring. Granger's screams continued to float from the window. His dear Auntie Bellatrix continued to yell and cackle. He closed his eyes and imagined Greyback leading Potter, Weasley, Dean Thomas (some Gryffindork who must have run into some trouble with the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, otherwise he would have been at Hogwarts), and a goblin down to the dungeons where Looney Lovegood and the wandmaker, Ollivander, were imprisoned.

_"You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth_!"_ Draco heard his dear Auntie Bellatrix shriek before Granger screamed again. Weasley kept bellowing, _"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"_ over and over again and Draco thought he was going to be sick. The nausea passed and he cleared his mind before walking back into the Manor.

_"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"_ Bellatrix interrogated Granger.

_"We only met him tonight!" Hermione sobbed. "We've never been inside your vault… It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"_

_ "A copy?" _Bellatrix drawled. _"Oh, a likely story!"_

_ "But we can find out easily!" _Draco's father said anxiously. _"Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"_

Draco cringed. He really did not want to go down to the cellar. The room scared him shitless as a child and his feelings about that particular part of the manor had not altered over the years. Besides, Potter, Weasley, and Thomas could easily overpower him… wait, no, _he_ was the one with the wand. And all he had to do was get the goblin. And they did not care about the goblin, right? It wasn't like the goblin mattered and they would not mind his departure. Draco slowly made his way down the cellar stairs.

_"Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!"_ He knew the warning was rather futile, considering he did not think he could kill them even if they all attacked him. Nonetheless, they had obeyed when Draco unlocked the door and marched inside the cellar with his wand out in front of him. He grabbed the goblin, dragged the creature behind him, and slammed the door. He nearly tripped on the top step of the cellar stairs because he had been expecting something far more dramatic. But no. He had done exactly what had been asked of him and had succeeded. He allowed himself to feel proud for a moment and delivered the goblin to father.

"As you requested, Father," he said with a smirk, dumping the goblin on the floor.

"Good, thank you, Draco," his father said, his mind elsewhere. Granger was curled up on the floor in the fetal position, attempting to muffle her sobs. For a second, the memory of Little Greengrass curled up in a similar position on the dungeon floor entered his mind, but he quickly shook it off as his ears continued to ring. "Bellatrix, the goblin can tell us if it is a copy or the real sword."

"The Mudblood could easily be lying. Is it really a copy, you filthy, pathetic Mudblood?" Bellatrix crooned. Granger whimpered. "_Crucio."_ Granger screamed again and Draco's ears began to ring louder. "Goblin, come here." The goblin did not move and Bellatrix swished her wand to drag the creature across the floor. "Look at the sword." He barely raised his head and his dear Auntie Bellatrix hurriedly propped him upright. "Look at the sword and tell me if it is real or a copy," she said her words slowly and menacingly. "Tell me the truth or you'll end up like your Mudblood friend here," she said, gesturing to Granger.

"It's…"

"Tell me!" Bellatrix screeched, making a deep cut on the goblin's face with a flick of her wand. Bellatrix then returned her spellwork to Granger, who screamed in pain, and Draco's ears continued to ring until he thought his head was going to explode. For a second, he thought it did because he heard a loud crack.

_"What was that?"_ shouted his father. _"Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar? Draco—no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!"_ Draco nearly sighed in relief and flicked his wand, Summoning Wormtail to him. The spell dragged the rat-like man into the room. Wormtail (the pathetic scum) looked up at Draco with watery eyes as he nibbled on a biscuit.

"Go to the cellar and see what is happening down there. And if anything is out of line, put a stop to it," Draco snapped and Wormtail gave a condescending bow and left. Draco once again felt rather proud for being so effective, but everyone was quiet, too busy listening for noises below to offer Draco any praise. They heard the cellar door creak open a scuffling sound.

_"What is it, Wormtail?"_ Draco's father shouted down to the pathetic Death Eater.

_"Nothing! All fine!"_ Wormtail's wheezy voice returned. They all looked at each other, trying to see if everything was 'all fine.' Draco's mother pursed her lips.

"He says it is nothing. We ought to corroborate or debunk the Mudblood's story," Narcissa Malfoy said, nodding her head at Granger. "The sword appears goblin-made. Revive the goblin and let him judge the sword's true origins." Draco felt his chest swell at his mother's calm, but authoritative comportment. His dear Auntie Bellatrix, however, did not appreciate taking orders but obeyed nonetheless. She flicked her wand and Granger screamed again, and then took the sword and placed it at the goblin's eyelevel.

"Look and tell me," she purred.

"It would be in your best interest, goblin," said Draco's mother, "if you listen to my sister. She is in a position to make you wish you had never been born should you prove uncooperative."

_"Well? Is it the true sword?"_ Bellatrix asked anxiously and the goblin examined the weapon, running his eyes over the hilt and blade. They all held their breaths in anticipation.

_"No. It is a fake."_ Draco exhaled.

_"Are you sure? Quite sure?" _Bellatrix inquired.

_"Yes,"_ the goblin said, causing his dear Auntie Bellatrix to suddenly relax and give the goblin her terrible, ruthless smile.

_"Good,"_ she said and with a flick of her wand, she cut the other side of the goblin's face and kicked him aside. _"And now, we call the Dark Lord!"_ she cried out gleefully, touching her forefinger to her Dark Mark. Draco tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. A wave of fear and dread washed over him.

How different things were a year and a half ago. He remembered quite distinctly during the summer before his sixth year when the Dark Lord asked to speak with him privately. His father was so proud and his mother was so silent, and he was excited and yet so very nervous. He had just turned seventeen and thought himself quite mature and wise. He was mistaken. He remembered how the Dark Lord placed His spindly fingers on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Draco, you will bring glory to our cause." The Dark Lord was persuasive man. "_Our _cause," He said. "_Glory,_" He purred. That was all the coercion Draco needed—he craved to be on top, he desired more than anything to be the big hero to lead his followers into infamy and grandeur. And he hated Potter for achieving that just all because he had a stupid scar on his forehead.

Draco felt his Dark Mark quiver. The Dark Lord was coming. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, letting apathy consume him. That way, he was a little bit safer. The Dark Lord didn't need to know that his ears were ringing or that sometimes the ringing turned into Little Greengrass' screams.

_"And I think," _Bellatrix crooned, _"we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."_

_ "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_ Someone burst into the drawing room and his dear Auntie Bellatrix turned around with shock written on her face. Her wand was out, but suddenly, _"Expelliarmus!"_ and Bellatrix's wand was in Potter's hand and Weasley looked like he was going to explode with anger. Draco, his mother, his father, and the werewolf had all turned around now and saw the intruders.

_"Stupefy!" _Potter cried out using Bellatrix's wand. The spell hit his father, who sank unconsciously onto the hearth, and it was Draco's turn to nearly explode with anger. Draco needed no further encouragement to fire a spell back at Potter, who threw himself behind a sofa to avoid Draco's, Narcissa Malfoy's, and Greyback's spellwork.

_"STOP OR SHE DIES!"_ Bellatrix cried out. She held Granger unconscious in her arms with a silver knife to the Mudblood's neck. _"Drop your wands,"_ Bellatrix slowly drew out her words. _"Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"_ Everyone was still for a moment, holding their breath. _"I said, drop them!"_ she screeched, pushing the blade against Granger's neck until blood appeared. Potter was the first to drop Bellatrix's wand and Weasley followed. Both raised their hands up in surrender. _"Good,"_ she purred. _"Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"_ Draco warily went to pick up the wands, nervous that Potter or Weasley would tackle him or something ridiculous and undignified like that. When he did get the wands, he hurried away with shaking hands. _"Now, Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."_

Most of these words were lost on Draco because his ears were ringing so loudly—the ringing turned into a creaking noise that sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard and he closed his eyes and willed himself to stop hearing things. But when he opened his eyes, everyone was looking up and then dashing away from the center of the room. Suddenly, the chandelier crashed the floor. Bellatrix threw herself out of the way, leaving the goblin and Granger under the crystal, which flew everywhere. _Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face._ He had three wands in his hand—his, a wand he recognized to be Wormtail's, and his dear Auntie Bellatrix's wand—but suddenly Potter came out of nowhere, yanked them from his hand and Stunned Greyback, who hit the ceiling from the impact of the three wands and crashed down to the floor. Draco's mother dragged him away and threw herself in front of him while his dear Auntie Bellatrix sprang up with her knife.

"_Dobby!"_ his mother screamed. _"You! _You _dropped the chandelier—?"_ And indeed, there was the tiny House Elf with his tennis ball eyes and mismatched socks (argyle, and purple and orange striped), shaking his finger at Narcissa Malfoy.

"_You must not hurt Harry Potter!"_ he cried out indignantly.

"_Kill him, Cissy!" _his dear Auntie Bellatrix screamed, but there was another _crack_, and the House Elf—the one who fetched him a glass of milk when he could not sleep, the one who hid a vase he broke when he played Quidditch inside the Manor, the one who always made the absolute best tea scones—disarmed his mother, leaving her wandless. The damn House Elf. _"You dirty little monkey! How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters!"_

"_Dobby has no master!"_ the elf squeaked, squaring his shoulders. _"Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"_

"_Ron, catch—and GO!"_ shouted Potter and they all began to Disapparate—Potter, Weasley, Granger, and the goblin—but Bellatrix threw her knife at them before they were completely gone. She smiled for a moment,—that slow, gleefully cruel smile—knowing that she had hit someone with her weapon, but her ecstasy soon faded when the room became absolutely silent.

They were gone. Potter and his friends were gone. They were gone and the Dark Lord was coming. They were gone, the Dark Lord was coming, and they had nothing to show Him. Potter had escaped once again and they would be punished. They would be punished severely.

Draco trembled and swallowed. His ears had finally stopped ringing. He looked at his father, who was slowly stirring on the hearth. His mother folded her hands together and bowed her head. She closed her eyes and waited while Bellatrix stood with her eyes wide and lips parted, anxiety creeping upon her. They all tensed up at the exact same moment. Slowly, they turned around.

He was there, in the doorway of the drawing room, His snakelike eyes scanning the crystal-covered ground. Lucius Malfoy dazedly opened his eyes, the Stunning spell having worn off and the twitching of his Dark Mark urging him awake. In his stunned stupor, he whispered, "Potter…?" ever so quietly, but it was enough.

"Potter?" the Dark Lord nearly choked. "What of Potter? What of him?" Draco's father frantically looked around. His mother remained with her head bowed, seemingly serene, while his dear Auntie Bellatrix hid behind her thick black hair. "Potter… he was here, wasn't he?" The room remained silent. "Wasn't he, Lucius?" the Dark Lord yelled and Draco was pushed to his knees and dragged toward the Dark Lord.

"My… my Lord…"

And then Draco screamed. It was the most painful thing he had ever felt in his entire life. There was no other sensation in his body other than pure pain as he contorted and writhed. Just minutes ago it was Granger on the floor, but now it was him. When the pain stopped and he remained on the ground, bits of crystal biting into his clothes, his chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Do not touch him!" he heard his mother yell, following by her scream. His yell and his father's yell joined in protest and Draco felt himself blink back tears from watching his beautiful mother thrash about in pain.

"Yes, Potter was here!" Draco's father nearly sobbed. "Narcissa…"

"Lucius, tell me what happened," the Dark Lord said gently, coaxingly, but Draco was not fooled. The Dark Lord twirled His wand and His terrible eyes zeroed in on Draco's father, eager to hear anything of Potter.

"Greyback and Scabior brought in Potter, Weasley, the Mudblood, some other magic-stealer, and a goblin, but then they…" his father trailed off and Draco saw the Dark Lord's wand point at him again before he heard himself scream. He felt like his insides were spilling out and when the pain stopped, he heard his mother's sobs as he stared at his reflection in a piece of crystal. Just a boy, hardly a man, stared back at him with cool, grey eyes and blood oozing from his face. "I do not know what happened, My Lord! They had wands and Potter Stunned me and…" Draco's body filled with pain again and he could do nothing but scream and scream and scream. He became aware of everything around him when it stopped—of the dark wood floor underneath him, the way the light caught the broken crystal on the ground, his mother's muffled sobs, his father's raspy protests, the slow and taunting pacing of the Dark Lord. "Please, I beg you—Bellatrix knows what happened! Ask her!"

"You lie!" the Dark Lord hissed and Draco was once again consumed by the pain. He could no longer think—it was like his body was a hollow shell, only capable of feeling the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. There was nothing else. "You are hiding something." Pain became the only thing he knew other than the metallic taste in his mouth, the scratchy feeling in his throat, and the throb of his clenched muscles. He heard his screams and his raspy grasps for air, but it sounded so foreign.

"There was a sword!" his father cried. "They had a sword!"

"A sword?" the Dark Lord asked thoughtfully.

"But it was a copy! Nothing to worry about! Please, My Lord, believe me."

"Oh, I do Lucius," the Dark Lord crooned and he heard his father choke back a sob. "I do believe you. But the fact remains that Potter was here and now he is not," He explained very carefully, as if addressing a toddler. "And you—well, you had no wand so there was little you could do, but your wife, your son, and your sister-in-law did have wands and failed me," the Dark Lord sighed.

"Please, My Lord, spare them," he begged, causing the Dark Lord to laugh.

"Spare them? Spare them when they have robbed me of a chance of ending everything? You are useless to me, Lucius. Your entirely family is utterly useless. Sometimes, I wonder why I even keep you around anymore."

"We have always been loyal, My Lord. Even when we had to pretend otherwise, I knew in my heart of hearts—"

"Save your eloquence for lesser minds, Lucius. Potter has once again eluded me!" Draco heard the Dark Lord pace the room with angry, loud steps.

"My Lord…" his dear Auntie Bellatrix began, but Draco heard a thud and knew that the Dark Lord had probably thrown her against a wall. It was something He tended to do when He was angry or frustrated.

"I will listen to her testimony later," the Dark Lord murmured to himself. Draco remained on the floor, watching his hand shake. A long minute passed (although Draco had no concept of time at this point) and the Dark Lord began to yell. "You let Potter get away!" he screamed. "He is the only person standing in my way! When Potter is gone I will cleanse the world for wizards, but _no_, Potter must die first! That loathsome boy continues to be my ruin and you continue to fail me! No sight of him for months and he shows up in the Manor and _you let him get away?_" Draco screamed again, again, and again as spell after spell hit him. He heard his mother scream, pleading the Dark Lord to stop and he heard his father attempt to explain.

Draco did not remember much after that. He remembered the Dark Lord tossing a spell over His shoulder, making his mother's robes turn dark and shiny with blood, and he remembered his father sobbing and holding her thin frame, begging her to not leave him, to just hold on and he will find a wand to stop the bleeding, and he remembered lying there and thinking that despite his hatred, he would still serve the Dark Lord and end this war. Because if his punishment for failure was this terrible, he could not even imagine his glorious reward when he would succeed. He lay on the floor and just breathed for a long time, long after his mother was neatly stitched up and had fallen asleep and long after his dear Auntie Bellatrix stirred awake and left him there. He lay on the floor until his father and some other Death Eaters scooped him up and placed him on the couch in the drawing room, where he slept better than he had in months. It was Paradise.

And when he woke up, he returned to Hell.

* * *

It was too quiet around the Estate for Astoria's liking. Daphne usually insisted on keeping the record in the sitting room playing, or she tinkered with the piano or hummed as she moseyed about the house. But one afternoon, it was quite nearly silent. Astoria picked up a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and tried to read the news. There was never any good news these days and all news was received with skepticism. Astoria figured that the _Prophet_ was too easily bought to deliver reliable, factual news. But as always, the obituary page seemed longer than ever. She tossed the paper aside and went to find her sister. Astoria knocked on Daphne's door and walked in without waiting for a response, only to find her sister wiping away tears and hastily shoving a note aside.

"Daph, what is wrong?"

"Nothing… oh, nothing."

"Who was the letter from?" she pushed.

"It's none of your business," Daphne snapped. "Merlin, you're so nosy."

"Sorry, I simply wanted to know why you are upset," Astoria shrunk back.

"I'm not upset, I'm fine!" Daphne yelled.

"Clearly," Astoria drawled, which she knew was not the most helpful thing to say at the time because Daphne's shoulders slouched and she began to cry again. "Daph…?"

"I'm sorry, I just… we're too young to have to deal with this. It's hard enough being a teenager, let alone _this._ Everything's so… complicated." Astoria did not know what to say because she had the feeling Daphne was referring to something that Astoria did not know about. After all, she did not think it was particularly hard to be a teenager. Then again, her father always joked that she was too sensible to be a teenager.

"I am sorry you feel that way," Astoria said. Daphne looked up at her blankly and Astoria gulped at the emptiness in her gaze.

"Don't ever fall for someone, Tori—it's just setting yourself up for failure. Then again, you're too smart to do something as stupid as that. You… you should go," Daphne sighed, fixing her curls in a mirror. Astoria silently walked out of the room, grabbed a book off the foyer table, and walked out of the house. She took off her shoes and walked and read, keeping her focus on the words on the pages rather than her parent's absence and her sister's cryptic advice.

* * *

The albino peacock was dead. It had roamed the Manor grounds ever since he could remember but now it lay at Draco's feet, sprawled out as if landed with a killing curse. The Dark Lord probably did it when He was angry about Potter getting away.

It had been two days since The Potter Fiasco and Draco was finally able to move. When he woke up in the drawing room, it was dark and his father leaned over him. For a moment, grey eyes met grey eyes and the father and son were silent.

"Mother?" Draco croaked, surprised to find his voice barely a whisper.

"Healing. It was fairly deep cut and she lost a significant amount of blood, but she ought to be fine. The Dark Lord was merciful not to curse the wound to prevent it from healing properly," his father responded. Draco's stomach lurched at the word 'merciful.' There was not an ounce of mercy in that monster. Lucius Malfoy saw the wave of nausea pass over his son and placed a hand on his head. "Do you think you can walk?"

Draco nearly wanted to laugh. Dried blood caked on his face from the cuts caused by the crystal shards. Each breath was a stab to the chest and all of his muscles were achy and sore, as if he had been shoved in a trunk for hours upon end. His ears had finally stopped ringing, but his head pounded and his stomach repeatedly threatened to upend itself. In addition, he was terrified: terrified that this was only the tip of the iceberg should he fail again, terrified to be wandless, and terrified for the sudden understanding how Little Greengrass felt when she was curled up on the dungeon floor.

He did not have the energy to respond to his father's question but slowly sat up. His head spun, but he knew he needed to have the cuts looked at before they scarred. A wave of nausea passed over him and he swung his legs to the ground, wincing in pain at their stiffness. He took a deep breath and looked up at his pale, trembling father. Lucius Malfoy's mouth opened to form words—perhaps an apology, a confession of regret, anything—but nothing came out. Instead, he offered a hand, which Draco took, and pulled him up. Draco nearly collapsed, feeling tired and weak, but leaned on his father as they slowly made their way upstairs. Halfway up the stairs he had to stop and sit to allow the blood to rush back to his head and when he reached his bedroom, he never found his bed more comfortable at that moment. A witch strolled into the room—Draco recognized her as one of the former nurses from St. Mungo's. Draco's father nodded at the woman, who spoke with a brisk, no-nonsense tone.

"Take off your shirt and pants. I need to remove any crystal shards imbedded in your skin." There was no 'please' or sympathy, but Draco needed none and willed his shaky fingers to undo buttons and fiddle with zippers. When he looked down at his chest, he saw over a half dozen dark bruises mottling the skin. The nurse seemed to ignore these marks—as well as the Dark Mark burned into his forearm—and straight away tended to the cuts on his body, which she yanked glass from and cleaned up. She dabbed ointment on the cuts, told him they would not scarring, and ordered him to go straight to sleep and eat and shower after he woke up again. Draco needed little encouragement to sleep, considering his eyes were drooping during the entire examination, but he was still fascinated and horrified by the bruises on his chest.

He gently pressed a finger against one and found the marks to be very tender. But how…? It took a few seconds to realize each mark showed precisely where the Cruciatus Curse hit him. He began to count the bruises. There were eight of them. He had received the Cruciatus Curse eight times. Tears prickled his eyes at the memory of the ordeal: never before had he experienced so much pain. Never before did he feel so helpless. And this—this was only the beginning.

Potter had his wand. He did not realize it until he woke up the following afternoon and he began to panic. He had no wand. How would he return to school? How would people not notice? How would he, a wizard, live without his own magic? He saw what it did to his father—how depressed he was all the time—and knew that he could not stand it. Ten inches, hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core, reasonably springy: it was all he ever knew and it was suddenly gone.

Draco showered and slowly walked downstairs to eat something. His father was also dining and seemed pleased to see his son up and walking. However, words once again failed him and the two sat in silence and ate until Draco at last croaked, "My wand…?" Lucius Malfoy sighed.

"Your mother would like to see you. Her scars are still tender and she cannot move right now."

"But father, I have school—"

"Finish your meal and do go upstairs. It would make her very happy," Lucius Malfoy persisted, ignoring his son's pleas.

"I refuse to resign myself to this state!" Draco stood up, his chest rising and falling with indignation. Draco's father looked up at him with a steely gaze, rolling his tongue in his mouth as if tasting for the correct words.

" 'This state'? You are as insulting as childish. Your 'state' seems to be a greater priority than your mother."

"That is not what I said!" Draco protested.

"But it is the reality of your words. Ever since the Dark Lord was unable to return my wand, I have done all in my power to protect this family—"

"But you have no power without your wand! How can you possibly protect us?" Draco nearly shouted. He very rarely argued with his father. Sometimes he had a stern talking to when he was being a little shit, but never had he shouted. It was completely disrespectable and irreverent, considering that Pureblood families put great stock into respecting their elders. His father looked at him long and hard.

"It is _your _wand, _your _magic. Do as you see fit, but first go visit your mother," he responded coldly and Draco quietly shrunk back and slipped out of the room. When he entered the master bedroom, his mother was asleep. Her face seemed pale and pinched, as if she had not eaten well and had been excessively worried. Draco heaped some of the blame on himself as he took her hand in his.

"Mother, I promise you that this will all end. I will bring glory to our name. I will protect us," he whispered.

Little did Draco know, his mother also promised to protect the family from that day forward, but she promised to protect them above all things: above loyalty to the Dark Lord, above reputation, and above glory. She, like Draco, saw the dead albino peacock in the garden and felt that the symbolism of the bird's death was too much like reality. However, Draco would not know this until months later when his mother announced that Potter was dead in return for knowing that her only son was alive. And even then, he did not quite understand. In fact, he never would until he first held his son in his arms eight years later.


	13. Chapter 11: Death and Defiance, Part 1

_Author's Note: This took a little longer than I expected, but the chapter became a two-parter. I'm getting really excited about this story because Chapter 12 will begin the Battle of Hogwarts. (eeeeek!) Thanks so much to everyone that has been reading and reviewing! The support has been overwhelming: 16 reviews for the last chapter alone, as well as a total of 64 favorite and 73 alerts! It's so exciting to know that many people are interested in keeping tabs on my story, and that encourages me all the more to write! I think it is pretty safe to say that this story will not be done by August, so expect to be hearing from Astoria Greengrass for awhile. Thanks again to all my readers!_

_And, WASN'T THE 8TH HARRY POTTER MOVIE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING?_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 11: Death and Defiance, Part 1_

"Draco, darling, please take my wand off the dresser," Narcissa Malfoy gently asked her son. Draco obliged and picked it up. He went to place it in her open palm when her hands wrapped his fingers around the wand. Suddenly, he understood what she meant.

"No…" he whispered.

"No, Draco, you must have it," she said with great authority and a small voice. "You will need a wand when you return to school. You have… you have greater need of it than I do."

Draco Malfoy always had great respect, love, and adoration for his mother but upon this sacrifice, these feelings toward her were renewed in tenfold. Since his father lost his wand, it was she who had remained strong in the face of everything. She was a Black and a Malfoy, fearsome to behold and terrifying to defy. She had become the face of the family: had she not still garnered the respect of the other Death Eaters, the Malfoy family would have crumbled long ago. Indeed, the Malfoy patriarchy had given way to a matriarchy. Draco began to lose respect for his father—not for having lost his reputation in society, but for doing nothing about it. His mother was fighting to keep them afloat while his father seemed determined to drown. If his mother lost her wand, they would not have a fighting chance.

"No, Mother," Draco gently pushed the wand toward her. "It is your wand. You must keep it."

"But then what will you do?" she snapped in that logical, matronly tone that Draco abhorred when he was younger. The answer came to him in a heartbeat.

He had two days until he was to return to Hogwarts. Draco smoothed his black suit as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked old, quite older than his mere seventeen years. He would be eighteen in June, but that meant nothing. He appeared tired and worn, but not beaten—no, there was still a little fight in his grey eyes, which he hoped would persuade the Dark Lord that he was not useless, that he still had plenty to offer to The Cause.

He cleared his mind—a necessity for speaking to the Dark Lord—and walked down the stairs where the Dark Lord reclined in the dining room. The wizard had an odd fondness for the long dining table; perhaps it was because Nagini was most comfortable there. He had been keeping the large snake with Him at all times as of late. Draco knocked and entered with a confident stride.

"Draco, so pleased to see you," the Dark Lord purred with no pleasure in his voice.

"My Lord, I wish to speak to you in regards to my education at Hogwarts," Draco responded crisply, hoping that the conciseness of his words would make him appear confident.

"But is this not a matter that you should discuss with your father?" He asked, interlacing His long fingers and leaning across the table slightly.

"I thought so myself but in light of recent circumstances, I have come to understand that he may not be my best advisor in this matter."

"Oh, tut tut, Draco," the Dark Lord admonished him sarcastically. "Surely you do not think that?" Draco turned around, fighting to control his facial expressions lest he give anything away.

"My Lord, I believe that a father can only do so much for a son: he may raise him properly, instill him with a sense of family pride, and encourage him to follow the proper path. But, there comes a time when a son must grow beyond his father. At such time, he seeks a mentor, a master." Here, Draco paused. "You, My Lord, are my master and I am here to serve _you_," Draco said pointedly. A slow smile spread across the Dark Lord's face.

"Go on," He gestured with His spindly fingers. Right there, Draco nearly lost his nerve. Was this really what he wanted? Would it be worth it in the end? Then, he remembered his father's haggard face and his mother lying in her bed upstairs and Draco's conscience was clear.

"I have found Hogwarts highly stimulating this year. I feel as though I have made great strides in my education and I believe that the Carrows have noticed improvement in my supplementary lessons. Such lessons I find extraordinary valuable, but I cannot help but wonder if I am more needed elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

"Yes, elsewhere. Wherever I may best serve The Cause. Or if you will it, I will remain at the Manor and not return to school," Draco paused to look at the Dark Lord. He could tell He was beginning to lose His patience. Perhaps he went overboard on the flattery…?

"Draco Malfoy, you certainly are your father's son with your silver tongue," the Dark Lord cocked his head and studied Draco. He felt a slow chill run down his spine and reminded himself that this conversation—the one he had dreaded for days—was absolutely necessary.

"I know I have disappointed you, My Lord, but I am young and still capable of achieving great things," Draco paced the room, looking at a painting on the wall. "You told me, My Lord, that I would bring glory to our cause. I have not forgotten your words, you see," Draco explained. "Nonetheless, I greatly value my education and believe that I may serve you best at Hogwarts, where I may uncover insurgents who know valuable information on Potter and his motley crew—"

"What is it that you require, young Mister Malfoy?" the Dark Lord sighed, obviously exasperated.

"Very little, My Lord. Only your blessing and a wand," Draco said briskly before mentally kicking himself.

"A wand?" the Dark Lord asked slowly.

"Yes, My Lord, a wand." Draco did not explain that Potter had his wand, that it was taken from his own hand. He could not fight his feelings of loathing toward Potter and it opened up something in him and he felt the Dark Lord seeing Potter rip the three wands from his hand.

"But not even Bellatrix has asked for such a thing," the Dark Lord mused, a wicked grin appearing on his face.

"Because my aunt takes what she wants, when she wants it. But I—" Once again Draco nearly lost his nerve. He was so very close, so he gulped and rushed on. "But I follow your will, not my own. I wish to prove my loyalty to you, My Lord." The Dark Lord looked at him thoughtfully and the room was utterly silent. Draco heard his heart pound in his chest and his stomach twisted into knots as he waited for a response. For a small moment, he half-expect a flash of green light to end everything, but it never came. Truly, he was terrified of the Dark Lord's response and what it may mean.

"I have found this conversation highly illuminating, Draco," the Dark Lord deliberated. "Honestly, I never thought you had it in you. It has been rather refreshing to see a little dedication to The Cause instead of your usual moping around the Manor during your holidays," the Dark Lord said mockingly, causing Draco to wince. "Stroll into Diagon Alley tomorrow and see what Ollivander has hidden in his shop. Naturally, the place is boarded up right now, but there will be one of us stationed outside. He will let you in. Do take your time. I hear it requires a bit of patience," the Dark Lord laughed at some joke unknown to Draco.

"Thank you, My Lord," Draco bowed deeply before turning to leave the room.

"Oh, and Draco?" He thought his heart nearly stopped when the Dark Lord beckoned him again.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"If you fail me again, the 'flash of green light to end everything' _will_ come. That, I promise you," a slow smile spread across His face. Draco shivered, knowing that He had dug in his mind and found that thought.

"Truly, My Lord, you are a merciful master," Draco said and he almost meant it.

* * *

"Look," Astoria handed _The Daily Prophet _to Daphne, who had just stumbled downstairs for breakfast.

"No, it is too early," the blonde moaned.

"Daphne," Astoria persistently waved the paper in her sister's face, who snatched it from her hands in annoyance. But not even she could ignore the blaring headline.

**UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 EVADES CAPTURE AT MALFOY MANOR**

"You know what that means, do you not, Daphne?"

"That Draco Malfoy is probably dead and if he isn't, he is wishing that he was," Daphne quickly retorted.

"No… wait, _what?_" Astoria stuttered.

"Honestly, Tori, the man is a Death Eater. And if Potter got away in his own home, how would he explain that to… to You-Know-Who? Wait, what were _you_ thinking?" Daphne asked and Astoria gulped.

"Potter is alive. The entire Weasley family is probably on the run. That means Dumbledore's Army is going to give the Carrows absolute hell. There will be defiance at every turn."

"But what does that mean for us?" Daphne asked quizzically. "Their actions have nothing to do with us."

"But they do, Daph. Because when they get caught…" Astoria could not finish the end of her sentence from the thought of returning to the dungeons to deal out Cruciatus Curses. Daphne immediately embraced her sister and while it did nothing to help the situation, it made Astoria feel a little better. "Do you really think that Malfoy is dead?"

"I hope not."

"Why?" Astoria asked confusedly.

"Because there are very few people in the world who really truly deserve to be murdered for being young and having a terrible tattoo on their arm," Daphne said quietly before taking the newspaper off the table and sliding it into a trashcan. But even from there, Astoria could see the blinking eyes of Harry Potter stare at her.

* * *

"Look at him," Daphne whispered. "Doesn't he seem different to you?"

"I honestly could care less what happens to Draco Malfoy," Astoria snorted as she took a seat on the Hogwarts Express next to her sister. They decided to sit away from the rest of the Slytherins for the day. Daphne and Pansy had grown increasingly estranged, although Astoria knew that Daphne still harbored hope for a renewal of their friendship. Astoria cared little for the rest of the Slytherins except Theo Nott. However, he was nowhere to be seen—he was in all likelihood lurking in the back of the train car, making sure that Astoria was alright from afar.

"Yes, you do care what happens to him," Daphne retorted.

"I really do not," Astoria dryly insisted, scrunching her nose in distaste.

"You know that whatever happens to Draco affects you in some way."

"Not anymore."

"No?" Daphne asked.

"Zabini opened his mouth. It is really just Theo and I. No Malfoy. No Zabini," Astoria whispered.

"Oh," Daphne said after a long moment. "Blaise really has a way with words, doesn't he?" Daphne bitterly snorted. They were quiet for a bit. "But Draco does seem quite different, I think." Daphne did not wait for Astoria to indulge her by asking, "How so?", so she continued. "Shoulders square, a confident but quiet gait—he knows everyone is looking at him. The old Malfoy swagger is back."

"Oh goody," Astoria drawled.

"I never said he wasn't faking it," Daphne shrugged.

* * *

"New wand, Malfoy?" Nott asked him during the Dark Arts. Draco looked at him warily. Nott, as always, had that irksome, knowing look on his face. He decided that the question did not merit a response, especially since a glimmer of a smile on Nott's face confirmed that he already knew the answer.

It had been easy enough to go into Ollivander's shop. As the Dark Lord explained, a Death Eater lurked about outside and Draco merely rolled up his sleeve and he was allowed access to the building. However, the tricky part came once he was inside. There were hundreds of wands arranged haphazardly. Draco tried to find something similar to his previous wand—perhaps with hawthorn wood or a unicorn hair core—but there were many combinations of woods, cores, and lengths that he grew quite overwhelmed. One wand did not completely backfire on him with a unicorn hair core and so he took that wand with him. The walnut finish was aesthetically pleasing and it seemed to work well enough. Nonetheless, it was not like his old wand.

Draco's father had been rather surprised to see him with a wand. He sputtered for a second and Draco looked at Lucius Malfoy squarely. He did not want to explain to his father that all he had to do was ask the Dark Lord. Draco, like his father, was a man of considerable pride but Draco was beginning to think that his father wanted to be miserable. The man could not even protect his own family, Draco thought bitterly. Now, it was his job and the defeated look in his father's eyes said that he recognized that as well.

After Nott asked his question, Draco looked at his fellow Slytherin coldly. Nott seemed taken aback for a moment and looked him up and down. A most peculiar expression flashed across Nott's face: confusion. Nott—the omnipotent Nott—for once didn't know something, and Draco had a feeling that the Slytherin was puzzled by his new-found confidence. Theodore Nott quietly backed away from Draco.

"Did you see my father over the spring holidays?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Yes," Draco responded, remembering Nott Senior silently walking the halls of the Manor most afternoons.

"I see," Nott murmured. "Did he seem well?"

"To my knowledge, yes," Draco said slowly, unsure what Nott was getting at. "Why do you ask? Did you not see him yourself?"

"Is your new wand walnut? Does it have the same core as your previous wand?" Nott quickly fired back at Draco.

They did not ask each other any more questions regarding fathers or wands after that.

* * *

"What do you think the castle walls would say if they could talk?" Blaise drunkenly whispered one night. Draco and some other Slytherins had been passing around a bottle of Firewhiskey and were winding down from being spectacularly drunk. Blaise was in one of his philosophical moods again and they had pleasant enough dispositions to humor him. "Just think of the things these walls have seen," he murmured, his dark eyes catching a flicker of the fire. "So many lives. So many firsts. So many regrets. So much… ecstasy," he chose his words carefully, knowing that now everyone hung on his every utterance. "So many changes in seven years. Those walls—we leaned on them in between classes, pressed a girl up against them to steal a kiss, pounded them in frustration—these are the walls that have protected us from so much, and yet they also hold us back from being what it is we are meant to be," he continued and many people nodded. "What do you think the walls would say if they could talk?" he asked rhetorically.

"I think they would tell us we are all fools," a soft voice rang out. It was Daphne Greengrass and with the way the firelight settled on her skin, her hair, and the soft curves of her body, it was easy to see why the entire male population at Hogwarts was positively enchanted by her. She seemed to look at Blaise pointedly before taking a long swig of Firewhiskey. Blaise looked at her oddly and then smirked, but his smirk quickly faltered.

"And what makes you think that, _bella_?" he asked, the normally confident, charismatic lilt in his tone absent.

"So many lives, you say," Daphne said after completing her swig of the strong drink. A delicate, pale finger dabbed the corner of her mouth before her pink tongue flicked out to suck off a final trace of the cinnamon-y alcohol. Daphne had a way of making men looking at her and after that moment, Blaise lost his place in the spotlight. "So many firsts. So many regrets. So much… ecstasy," she purred. Blaise gulped with how Daphne fixed her hypnotic Greengrass eyes on him and the way she stole his words and made them all the more captivating. "The walls, these castle walls—they would tell us we were fools for thinking that our lives, our firsts, our regrets, our ecstasy were so much bigger, so much more important than the rest of the world. Because we are such fools for fooling ourselves, replaying that pretty little lie before our eyes over and over again. Foolish, isn't it?" she asked before fixing her eyes on Blaise again. "Does that explanation sufficiently appease your curiosity, Mr. Zabini?" she asked, sounding horribly like her little sister.

"Most adequately. Thank you, Miss Greengrass," was Blaise's clipped, choked reply. She flashed a smile that made most blokes weak in the knees before she took a final swig of Firewhiskey and walked upstairs to her room. "My," Blaise said when she was gone, "how I very much despise Daphne Greengrass. Hell, the whole Greengrass clan. They can go take a flying leap off the Astronomy Tower for all I care. What rubbish…" Blaise muttered before taking a few large gulps of the Firewhiskey.

The only other philosophizing Blaise did that evening was in regards to religion—that is, he worshipped the porcelain god for most of the early morning.

"You are such a child at times, Zabini," Nott murmured from the doorway of the loo. Blaise told him to shut the bloody hell up between retches, but Nott just rolled his eyes and made sure he did not pass out directly in the toilet. "Our lovely friend, Miss Greengrass, may have a point. I find her extraordinarily perceptive," Nott continued in a casual manner while Blaise hovered over the toilet rim with his face pale and gaunt. "She really is quite a catch, do you not think so?" he goaded. "Quite extraordinarily beautiful." Nott never talked about girls. Ever. He was quite nearly asexual in Draco's mind. Blaise was too drunk to notice.

"She's a great lay," Blaise added, flushing the toilet.

"So I have heard," Nott shrugged. "Too bad she will never date a Slytherin," he sighed. "She would be quite the trophy to dangle off of one's arm." Blaise seemed on the verge of giving some nasty retort when he commenced his hurling and forgot all about Daphne Greengrass.

* * *

The first letter arrived during the first week of April. Astoria saw her uncle's handwriting and knew before she even broke the seal that something was wrong. With shaking hands she skimmed over the short letter, then read it more carefully, then re-read it. Daphne, who was eating lunch across the table, looked at Astoria's pale face and reached her hand out. Astoria placed the letter in her palm and tried to force herself to eat. Nott touched her shoulder for a quick moment and she could not bring herself to look at him.

That afternoon, she found herself in Snape's office. The Headmaster was rarely around, but it seemed as though he was always called back to Hogwarts whenever anything happened related to the Greengrass family. Severus Snape sat serenely in former Headmaster Dumbledore's chair as Amycus and Alecto Carrow prowled behind him.

"Do you know, Miss Greengrass, why we are here?" Snape drawled.

"Because I was requested?" Astoria sassily retorted. Alecto Carrow began to shout something about 'respecting her elders' and Snape silenced her with a hand and proposed to Astoria another question.

"Do you know the whereabouts of your uncle?"

"My father's brother?"

"Yes." Astoria was silent for a moment before she responded.

"He is in the Greengrass Estate," she said.

"And the writer, Victor Noveum? His whereabouts?"

"Also at the Greengrass Estate."

"See? She is harboring fugitives!" Alecto shrieked. Astoria looked at the woman dully.

"They have direct ties to the family. Despite the fact that my uncle has been disowned, the protective wards of the estate will allow him in."

"Their propaganda has caused quite a stir in the community," Snape explained.

"Well it must have done so, considering the Greengrass Estate is the last place they would go to seek safety," Astoria dryly retorted.

"Is there any possible way to extract them?"

"No."

"As the future heir of the Greengrass Estate, will you permit others to act on your behalf to remove them?" Snape inquired.

"No. As if these 'others' need permission anyway," she snorted. "However, should they attempt regardless, they would find the land extraordinarily hostile."

"Is that a threat, Miss Greengrass?"

"No, but consider it a warning. However, I do not see how a writer and a House Elf rights activist are the Dark Lord's current priorities when Potter, Weasley, and Granger all had tea at the Malfoy Manor just last week," Astoria primly sneered.

"Stupid, stubborn witch!" Amycus bellowed at her and raised his wand. Astoria flinched but Amycus was quickly restrained by Snape. His lightning-fast reflexes flicked a body-binding spell at the man and then pointed his wand toward Alecto, challenging her to defy him next. Alecto shrunk away, terrified of the Headmaster.

"You would do well, Miss Greengrass," sighed Snape, "to watch your words. Their callous tone may give _the wrong impression_."

"I do see how I could be _misconstrued,_" Astoria responded after a moment. Alecto appeared rather confused by the exchange.

"You would also do well to advise your relatives to cease provoking those in power."

"Understood."

"Good. Leave," the door swung open and Alecto began to whine and protest as Astoria stood up. She was about to leave when Snape called out, "Greengrass." Astoria turned around and looked at the Headmaster, who stared at her squarely in the eyes for a moment before gesturing for her to depart. She shut the door behind her, shaken by the unnerving encounter.

* * *

He did not know what possessed him to go running. He was not like Blaise, who obsessively worked out, nor was he scrawny and bookish like Nott. No, the Malfoy men were blessed with a naturally tall and strong builds that did not require jogging or lifting weights. He never quite understood the allure of working out anyway. Blaise talked about a 'runner's high' and other nonsense, but Draco thought it was rubbish. Until now.

His throat constricted, suppressing a scream, and he had to get out of the castle. The walls felt like they were closing in on him and he could hardly breathe, so he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, rolled up his pant legs, and took off across the grounds. And as he ran, arms pumping and feet pounding the grass, he stopped thinking that he was positively going insane (because Malfoys don't need to work out and sweating is rather undignified). Instead, he found his mind oddly clear as the cool air filled his lungs. His mind concentrated on each step, the burning in his thighs, and the beating of his heart, not the Dark Lord, his family, his failures, his dismal fate…

He understood what Blaise was talking about, that 'runner's high' rubbish. There he was, legs moving on their own accord and his mind at ease and empty. However, it was not the same emptiness as Occlumency. Occlumency required an empty mind and an unfeeling heart, but Draco felt everything. He felt the sweat gathering on his brow, the wind through his shirt, and the soft grass under his feet. He felt all the pain and pressure, he felt the worry and fatigue, and he felt the loneliness and confusion, but it was alright. It was alright because he was alive and running. His body functioned. His heart beat. His bruises would fade. It was alright.

As he ran, he unbuttoned his shirt to let the wind touch his skin. The grounds were wide and empty. No one was out there to see the bruises that mottled his chest from the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curses. Well, no one except Little Greengrass, but he did not realize that until he was on the ground and she was on top of him.

Along the backside of the castle, a low wall ran down a grassy knoll. Upon turning the corner of this wall at full speed, he crashed into someone who was walking and reading. Out of instinct, he grabbed the person on the way down and landed on his shoulder to prevent his full-weight from crushing who he had run into. However, that person banged their head on his chest and grabbed onto his shirttails, so when Draco hit the ground with the person underneath him, the mystery person was so tangled in him that they rolled a few feet before they managed to halt their momentum and groan at the damage.

Draco's shoulder and wrist certainly hurt from the fall, but everything else seemed to be in place… minus the person on top of him. That was certainly not allowed. He hadn't even realized that his eyes were squeezed shut until he opened his eyes in surprise from feeling a cool finger trace his chest. He saw pale skin, a bony shoulder, long eyelashes, and dark hair bent over his chest. A small finger—definitely female and quite young—delicately danced around the edges of his dark bruises. It took him a few seconds to register what was happening, but when he did, he grabbed the girl's wrist and she looked up at his face. For a second, all Draco saw was green and then he realized that it was Little Greengrass, staring at him in shock, curiosity, confusion, and… sympathy? They both stopped breathing for a moment, simply staring at each other, trying to anticipate the next person's move. It was Little Greengrass who spoke first.

"Malfoy," she croaked, "who did this to you?" There was something so terrible in her voice—something so pathetic and earnest and worried—that he completely tossed her small frame off of him. It was easy, considering she was called Little Greengrass for a reason and all, and when he threw her, she rolled over once as he bounded to his feet. "Who did this to you?"

"Fuck off, Greengrass," he hissed. Draco was positively livid and he really wanted his wand and Merlin damn it, he was so angry, more angry than he had ever been in his entire life because Malfoys always kept their cool and _she_, the Damn Sodding Little Bloody Greengrass Brat, dared to pry into something that had absolutely nothing to do with herself, and fucking hell, why was she always around when he loathed her very existence, her entire being, every fucking thing about her?

"I know what those are," she continued, eyes wide and frantic, still sitting on the grass. "I know what they are from. So who did it to you?" Merlin, he wanted to hit her so much but that would be in bad form and there was already an angry red mark on her wrist where he had grabbed her.

"Do not be so dim, Greengrass. Everyone knows what happened at the Manor," the words slipped from his mouth.

"No, no one really knows. No one except yourself, those present, and… and the Dark Lord," she whispered as she stood up. "The rest is just hearsay." He went to grab his wand, only to find that it wasn't in his pocket—he had left it in his room. Greengrass' gaze shot to where the book she had been reading and her wand had tumbled to the side before she fell. She looked about ready to dive for her last defense when she stopped, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Amycus Carrow did it to me," she took a step forward. "I thought it would never end—the pain," she offered as a sort of peace agreement. "Who did it to you?"

"Who do you think?" Draco snapped, gesturing to his bruised chest. "He lives in my house. He has taken over my _home_. What do you think that feels like?" His throat grew tight and he could no longer form words. Hate: he hated the Dark Lord so—fucking—much. He rubbed his hands across his face and when he looked up, Little Greengrass was still staring at him with her damn green eyes, confusing him more than ever. He had been doing just fine with his servitude. Why did she have to mess everything up?

"It takes almost a month for them to fade. The bruises, I mean," she said quietly, looking at the dark splotches of skin on his chest. Draco hastily buttoned up his shirt, but not before remembering the feeling of her fingers on his chest, that quick, feather light touch that made him hold his breath…

"You never saw anything," he hissed and she took a step back.

"What are you going to do about it?" she pursued. Draco looked at her, unsure of her meaning. She understood his glance and explained. "What are you going to do about Him?" Draco almost laughed.

"As if I can do anything at all, Greengrass," he snorted. "Just because I have this," he continued, bunching up his left sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark, "does not mean I may do as I please." She looked at the tattoo on his arm. "No reaction, Greengrass? Does not the mere sight of it strike fear into your heart?" Draco taunted her.

"I am not afraid of you, Malfoy," she said calmly.

"You ought to be, Greengrass," he said smugly, feeling as though he regained the upper hand. "We are a part of this war whether we like it or not. He is close to finding Potter, and what do you think is going to happen when He does?"

"What if Potter wins?" Little Greengrass blurt out.

"And what if the Dark Lord wins?" Draco challenged her.

"I had assumed you…" her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

"Assuming makes you an ass, Greengrass," Draco goaded and Little Greengrass crossed her arms indignantly. "Loyalty is the only thing keeping us all alive," he continued more seriously as he fixed his shirtsleeve. "So do not cross me, Greengrass," he said. "Get your book, your wand, and leave." She opened her mouth to retort in defiance, but obeyed his orders, gathering her book and wand that had tumbled to the side. Draco remained impassive as she walked by him, but she suddenly stopped and rose on her tiptoes.

"If we live by our loyalties, Draco Malfoy, we may very well die by them," she tauntingly whispered and then walked on. The wind whistled through the grass and Draco's chest grew tight and he choked on the scream building up inside of him and then everything was silent. And he ran on. As it turned out, running seemed rather fitting for Malfoy men. After all, they were a bunch of cowards—running from their fate was what they did best.

* * *

The next letter came but a week later and although Astoria had half-expected it, its impact still delivered a deadly blow. When she looked up at the staff table, she saw a triumphant glimmer in Alecto Carrow's eyes. Astoria gulped, bit back tears and looked to her sister. Astoria pointedly stood up and Daphne also rose and followed her out of the room. The girls walked side-by-side out of the Great Hall.

"Who is it from?" Daphne asked and Astoria could not bring herself to say that it was from Gringotts. She felt a pair of eyes on her as she walked down the long rows of tables and glanced over her shoulder, expecting to meet Theo Nott's gaze. He had been quietly looking after her for a month and Astoria had not had trouble from anyone except the Carrows. For that, she was truly grateful to him. She did not trust Theo, but she knew he would do her no harm. So, she was surprised when she did not meet Theo's eyes, but Malfoy's steely gaze. He watched her leave the room for a moment before turning back to his breakfast.

Malfoy had changed since the holidays. Daphne was right that he had been acting more confident, more assertive, which Astoria found odd considering what the Dark Lord did to him. When he crashed into her the previous week, she saw the bruises on his chest and could not help but trace one with her finger—it was like reliving all the pain over again and it reminded her of her abhorrence of the Carrows. For a moment, she sympathized with Draco Malfoy: she understood his pain, terror, and subsequent determination. Now he knew what it was like to be her. She was also reminded that he did not have it easy; he, like her, served the one person he hated more than anything. Also, he constantly lived in fear and with the relentless promise to protect his family, regardless of the consequences. As Astoria walked with her sister, her loyalty to this promise grew exponentially.

"Tori, you're scaring me. What happened?" Daphne implored and Astoria's mouth went dry. They walked down into the Slytherin common room and then into Daphne's room. Astoria still could not say anything and instead handed her the letter. Daphne read it twice before asking Astoria what it meant. Astoria blinked back tears and recalled the contents of the letter.

_Dear Miss Astoria Greengrass,_

_ This is a notification from Gringotts Bank alerting you that the sub-account "Astoria Greengrass" has merged with the larger Greengrass vault under the Gringotts Code of Inheritance Laws, article 3, section 5. Full ownership of all lands, deeds, and funds sanctioned by the larger Greengrass vault are now available to you. Please inquire in person for a more detailed inventory of aforementioned lands, deeds, and funds._

_-Gringotts Bank_

After her seventh birthday, she developed an odd fascination with Gringotts Bank. Her father allowed her to open a sub-account in the Greengrass vault for her own personal savings and the trip in the cart below the bank peaked her interest. She thought the goblins were interesting creatures, even though her father proclaimed that they could be 'nasty little buggers,' and after her little adventure, she began to research everything there was to know about Gringotts. Her father, amused by her interest, explained to her all the laws he knew pertaining to banking. Considering the man was a wealthy and shrewd business man (the Greengrasses always invested in land), he had plenty to say about it. He even went on to discuss with Astoria inheritance laws, which her mother later accosted the man for, declaring that it was a morbid conversation to have with a child of seven.

"And this one—well, I think this one was a stroke of genius. Quite a nifty bit of magic, I believe," Thomas Greengrass pointed to one of the laws in the giant book Astoria had propped on her lap. "It was a miracle the law passed, though—the goblins must have been in a most obliging mood, otherwise they would have no reason to bestow on little witches and wizards their mummy and daddy's gold. But only good little witches and wizards, of course," he man planted a kiss on her cheek. Astoria sat on her father's knee and turned around to look at him.

"But sometimes I am terribly naughty," she morosely replied.

"But all the time you are terribly wonderful," her father added and she felt much better afterward. "And see here—article five, section three—this will make sure you stay wonderful if something bad happens to your papa and mum." He explained it was a little piece of blood magic. Magic ran through all witches and wizards veins, but when they die, when their heart ceases to pump blood, the magic disappears.

(Years later, it made Astoria realize that a dead Muggle was no different than a dead witch or wizard, but that was not her concern then.)

Article three, section five of the inheritance laws permitted beneficiaries to immediately obtain access to the finances of their benefactor. The contract, which ordered the immediate transfer of funds, was signed by the benefactors in their own blood. The magic in their blood would remain alive until the benefactors deceased, at which time the bank would be magically alerted and the transfer of funds could begin. Astoria explained it all calmly to Daphne, who looked at her with wide eyes.

"So, because I now have access to everything, it must mean that—" Astoria's voice faltered as she choked back tears.

She remembered how her mother and father walked out of the house for that last time. It was August 29—in three days, she would be on the Hogwarts Express to begin her fifth year. Their suitcases sat neatly at the door. Her mother wore dark robes, pearls around her neck, and a pin in her golden blonde hair. Her father was a little less put together—tie undone, sweat on his brow, and a wrinkled handkerchief almost falling out of his pocket.

"I will do everything in my power to come back," he said as he kissed her forehead. "I have two very good reasons."

And then her mother and father were gone. But now they were really gone.

"They are dead, Daphne," Astoria choked back a sob.

"No… _no, _they aren't," Daphne stammered. "If they were, I would know it. I would feel… _no, _they can't be."

"They are," Astoria calmly pursued. "These sorts of contracts never fail—"

"_NO!_" Daphne screamed, falling to the ground. "They _can't_ be dead, _they_ can't be dead, they can't be _dead_…" she said, growing increasingly hysterical with each repetition. At last, Astoria fell to the floor with her and threw her arms around her sister, who was now sobbing, "They're gone. _Why?_ How did…? Tori…" Astoria could not form words as she held her sister. It felt like that if she were to open her mouth, she would become completely unhinged. And at that moment, she had to hold her sister together. Daphne screamed in anguish and clutched Astoria as she sobbed uncontrollably. Astoria's grief seemed to grab her heart and rip it out of her chest, but she gulped down the hard lump in her throat and reassuringly rubbed her sister's back, murmuring that they were going to be fine, they were going to be just fine.

But when Daphne finally fell asleep after hours of sobbing, pacing about the room, and screaming, Astoria stopped believing they were going to be fine. Sure, they had lived just fine without their parent's supervision, but it was not the supervision that mattered, but the endless love and support. She was an _orphan_. The word hit her like a Cruciatus Curse and she felt her world close in around her. Without her father… without her mother… who would love her unconditionally? Who would care for her and protect her? Who would nag her, tell her to mind her manners, and watch her grow up? Who was she without the stronghold of her family?

She lay with her sister, whose deep breaths would have put her to sleep had it not been these thoughts that plagued her mind. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bullstrode, and Tracey Davis crept back into the room but a half hour ago. None had inquired what happened. However, Davis had given her an odd look—one almost of pity, like she had a premonition of what had passed, but then she grew angry and cold and looked away. Parkinson fussed with her hair and nails before announcing she was going to bed while Bullstrode donned her sleeping clothes and silently pulled the sheets over her head. Astoria lay with her sister for hours, paralyzed by her thoughts. She heard the clock chime eleven, twelve, one, and then two before she finally rose and walked out of the Slytherin House.

The castle was quiet and empty. She was breaking all sorts of rules and didn't care. Her legs moved on their own accord down the dark corridors and up winding staircases. She did not even realize she was on the Astronomy Tower until a cold gust of air hit her face and she looked out to see the Hogwarts grounds, still and misty on that early April morning. Her step did not falter as she climbed up on the ledge and stood there. She had impeccable balance, thanks to her mother's etiquette lessons (her mother… her only mother…), and knew she would not fall, but standing on that ledge forced her to contemplate death.

Was it like falling out of life? Was it like floating? Was it like sleeping? Or was it something all too incomprehensible to the living person? When you died, did the purity of your blood even matter? When you died, did you get to watch over the lives of the people you left behind? Was death like drowning? Was it like Disapparating to a different universe? Or was it like being ripped in half, body splitting from the soul?

All questions. No answers. She stepped down from the ledge and leaned against the wall, hoping that the stone would support her sorrow. It did, but it was cold and hard. She was alone and figured she may as well become accustomed to her fate—orphaned, _alone_. She tried to force herself to cry and found that the tears wouldn't come. She had done so well abating them in front of Daphne and now when she could cry in peace, it seemed as though her tear ducts had decided to stop working. Astoria released a bitter laugh and threw her head back against the stone. She gritted her teeth at the pain and then tilted her head up to look at the stars.

Her parents were dead. She had no one to protect her. She was an orphan. She was alone. She was the heir of the Greengrass fortune. Her uncle and his partner were in hiding. Her parents were dead. Her parents were _murdered._ This realization made her want to scream. She _knew _that they must have been murdered—there was no other explanation: they were hunted down like animals, probably mercilessly tortured, and then brutally killed. Their bodies lay in some remote location where they would probably never be found. And their killer would never be apprehended because her parents were Purebloods and traitors, and regardless whether the Dark Lord won or Potter won, no one would care who killed them. She was alone, an orphan, with no one to protect her, and her parents' dead bodies were somewhere out in the wide world.

But she wasn't alone. She whipped her wand around to face the figure at the top of the stairs with a spell on the tip of her tongue when she saw who it was: Seamus Finnigan, the 7th year Gryffindor and Longbottom's second in command. He had his wand out as well, except his was lit and shining in her face. They pointed their wands at each other for a long moment until Astoria grew angry and hissed at him.

"What the _hell_ are you doing up here?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.


	14. Chapter 11: Death and Defiance, Part 2

_Author's Note: Second part of the chapter up, on time as promised! Haha, I got my first negative review. It was quite eloquent: "Astoria is a jerk here." Uh, and it took you 13 chapters to figure that out? Okaaaaay then. I thought it was funny. But, 20 reviews for one chapter! 180 reviews total? Ahhh you guys are so freaking awesome! Enjoy the chapter! I've been typing away like a beast to get the first Battle of Hogwarts chapter done and I'm really excited and nervous all at the same time._

_But in the meanwhile, I love writing dialogue with Seamus Finnigan. Merlin bless the Irish..._

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 11: Death and Defiance, Part 2_

She was alone, an orphan, with no one to protect her, and her parents' dead bodies were somewhere out in the wide world.

But she wasn't alone. She whipped her wand around to face the figure at the top of the stairs with a spell on the tip of her tongue when she saw who it was: Seamus Finnigan, the 7th year Gryffindor and Longbottom's second in command. He had his wand out as well, except his was lit and shining in her face. They pointed their wands at each other for a long moment until Astoria grew angry and hissed at him.

"What the _hell_ are you doing up here?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

"I could ask ye the same question!" he snorted. They continued to glare at each other. "Lower your wand, will ye?" Astoria obeyed only after he lowered his wand.

"Go away," she muttered.

"Erm, last time I checked, the Astronomy Tower did not belong to ye," he said in his lilting Irish accent. He cocked his head and studied her face. "Greengrass. Astoria Greengrass," her name rolled gently off his tongue. "That's your name."

"_Go away,_" she repeated, trying to sound as menacing as possible.

"Naw tanks," he grinned. "I'm going to get some kip right here and take the mickey out of ye. Nothin' better to do on an April night, me thinks."

"Fuck off," she growled, not amused as he settled down on the stone to take a nap.

"Now, those be fighting words, lassie," Finnigan wagged a finger at her, his amber eyes lighting up in the moonlight. Astoria turned away from him, tired of his antics. "So, what brings ye up here?"

"None of your damn business."

"Ye shouldn't be out here this late. No telling what could happen to ye," he shrugged. Astoria turned around and raised a perfectly arched brow at the Irish man.

"Is that a threat, Finnigan?"

"Well, it's not like ye have many allies, especially now." Astoria's mind began to race.

"How did you know?" she demanded, shoving her wand at Finnigan's neck.

"How did I know what? Are ye mad? Get that bloody thing away from me," he shoved her arm away. Astoria eyed him carefully, her breathing coming hard—he did not know about her parents. "I just meant that since you went after Michael…"

"I did not 'go after' Corner," Astoria sneered. "I was taking orders."

"And that's what ye call 'bein' evil,' nowadays?"

"I do not have to listen to this," Astoria shook her head.

"Then leave."

"I got here first!" she protested. "I am not going anywhere. _You _are to leave," she coldly hissed, pointing her wand at him again.

"And what are ye goin' to do about it?" Finnigan taunted, standing up imposingly. Astoria's mouth went dry for a moment—he was quite tall and appeared to be in very good shape.

"You have heard what I am capable of," Astoria responded smoothly once she found her voice. "Use your imagination." There was a beat as he looked at her and then he began to laugh. Astoria found that he had a rather nice laugh, a genuine laugh, the kind that tickled one's toes. This further aggravated her.

"For a fifth year, ye are quite the menace, Miss Greengrass," he chuckled and Astoria huffed angrily. He did not seem to mind that Astoria still had her wand leveled at his chest and even turned his back to her. Finnigan leaned against the wall surrounding the tower and glanced out over the grounds. "I'm up here because I'm tinkin' of me best mate, Dean Thomas. For months, not a word from him—he's on the run because the Muggle-Born Registration Commission is lookin' for him. Couldn't prove that he had wizard blood. So, all along, I been tinkin' that he's dead and then I hear he was at Malfoy's. He's alive—a relief, eh? But I suppose he's on the run now, again. So, sometimes when I can't sleep, I come out here because I find it relaxin'. Helps me clear me mind, ye know?" It was silent for a moment as they listened to the wind rustle through the grounds. "Your turn. Share your sob story." Astoria smirked and declined to share.

"Put it out of your mind. I know when I am fighting a losing battle against some stubborn and annoying Gryffindor. Have a pleasant evening with your thoughts, Finnigan," Astoria turned to leave, knowing that she would have no peace with Finnigan around.

"Wait there, no need to run away, Greengrass," he grinned playfully, gently grabbing her arm. For some reason, this action made Astoria bristle in defiance.

"Why does everyone think they can just do that? Grab me, pull me? Malfoy, Nott, Macnair, the Carrows… hell, Longbottom, Summerby, and you! Who the hell do you think you are?" she pulled herself from his grip. "Who gives you the right to order me around? I am my own authority," she declared resolutely. She felt her chest grow tight as Finnigan studied her, taking a step away from her and tossing up his hands in surrender.

"Ye are absolutely right. I am sorry for layin' hands on ye," he said so solemnly and seriously that it seemed like a foreign expression on his jovial face. Astoria snorted at him.

"You Gryffindors and your bloody chivalry—you think you can all be knights in shining armor and save the day—" Astoria began to rant.

"I'm no knight—"

"And you think that everything you do is good and right and _noble_—"

"Well, if ye tink about it…"

"But you know nothing about what is really out there—"

"_Pardon me?_"

"You think that you all are the victims when you have no idea of the choices those on the other side must face!"

"Oh, you've made your choices, Miss Greengrass," Finnigan goaded.

"Yes, because servitude or death gives you a whole lot of options!" she stepped up to him. "Everyone expects you, _Finnigan_, to rebel and fight for Potter and Dumbledore because that is what Gryffindors do. But when you have a name like Greengrass, you join You-Know-Who or die."

"Oh, and you know this for a fact?" he crossed his arms incredulously.

"Yes, because my parents ran to avoid joining and now they are dead," she said quickly, the words slipping through her lips like quicksilver. Finnigan's gaze on her seemed to refocus and his eyes narrowed on her—not in anger, but in concern. Astoria felt a slow chill run down her spine. Somehow, saying it aloud again made it all the more real. Her throat grew tight and she turned away from Finnigan. It was her turn to lean against the wall surrounding the tower and gaze out across the grounds. Her hands felt cold against the stone—in fact, she was cold all over now because she was shivering. Or maybe she was shaking. She didn't know.

"Astoria," Finnigan's voice caressed her name. Her spine grew stiff. "Greengrass," he said and she relaxed the slightest, "when… when did this happen? When did ye find out?" There was a long pause before she responded because she had trouble choking back her tears.

"Today," she meekly offered. Finnigan made some pitying murmur.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly and Astoria spun around angrily to face him.

"Sorry? Sorry for what? How can you be sorry?"

"It's called sympathy, lassie. Try bein' human sometime instead of a robot and ye'll find out," he said softly.

"A robot? What is a robot?" she asked, trying to urge her sorrow away by conjuring up her curiosity.

"It's a Muggle contraption," he explained. "It's a machine that can move without a brain, a heart, or a soul." Astoria thought for a moment.

"Then I resent your accusation," she proclaimed, throwing her shoulders back.

"Have ye cried at all today? I bet ye haven't. Prove me wrong and cry," he taunted.

"I do not have to prove anything to you," Astoria shook her head, hiding her trembling hands behind her back.

"Then do it for yeself. It's alright to cry. In fact, sometimes it makes things better."

"Tears will not bring them back. That is folly, Finnigan," Astoria forced the words from her mouth, finding that she was biting her lip.

"Ye know what is folly? Hidin' yeself up here and tinkin' that bein' alone will make it all easier to bear," he softly explained, taking a step toward her. Astoria threw her hands up in front of her face, trying to gesture at him to leave her as she backed up toward the wall. Finding herself cornered and feeling terribly weak, her knees gave out and she slid down the wall.

"Please go, Finnigan," she managed to say before tears began to fall down her face.

"And leave ye all alone? We've already gone over that: it's folly," he murmured with a gentle smile, sitting down beside her.

"Then if you are going to be a bloody Gryffindor about it," Astoria spat between bouts of tears, "then shut the blood hell up and sit here." She buried her face in her hands and released the sobs that she had kept pent up for hours. Her tears came faster and faster and her chest hurt from sobbing so hard. She had doubled over, rocking back and forth as she let her hot tears fall on cold stone. Her arms, which had supported her as she knelt on the ground, finally gave out and then she felt a pair of arms gather her up. Finnigan pulled her to his chest and she had half a mind to curse him to oblivion, but then she realized how cold she felt and how warm he was and allowed herself to remain there, sobbing until she had no more tears left to offer. She quietly sniffled into his chest as Finnigan gently rocked her. It was soothing, and she felt safe in his arms. When her sniffling stopped and her breathing grew slow and even, Finnigan spoke up.

"Better, Greengrass?" he asked quietly and Astoria nodded her head. "Good. And I even followed your instructions to 'shut the bloody hell up and sit here,'" he said, rather proud of himself. Astoria neatly picked herself out of his embrace, quickly wiping her tears away. She took a deep breath, smoothing her robes and fiddling with her fringe before she fixed her cold eyes on Finnigan. He simply sat there in pajama pants, a t-shirt (with a wet spot from her tears), and some warm robes, studying her with his amber eyes. Astoria's mouth went dry. She could not bear to thank him, even though she knew she owed him at least that. Her mouth opened and shut, unable to find the words. "I get it, Greengrass. Now go get ye some rest," he urged her. Astoria released the breath she had been holding and turned to leave, but paused in the doorway to look at him again. She fiddled with her wand for a second. "Don't ye even tink about it," Finnigan shook his head. "Don't ye worry, Greengrass. All your secrets are safe with me. Ye have me word, and I don't take that lightly." Astoria gulped and nodded her head before rushing down the stairs and back to the Slytherin common room.

When she slipped back into bed with Daphne, the blonde awoke and began to quietly cry again. Astoria curled up next to her and urged her to get some sleep. This did not pass for another hour and Astoria remembered hearing the clock strike four before she drifted off into an uneasy sleep. And when she woke up the next day, it was back to defying all the obstacles she faced while placing her parent's death in the back of her mind.

How miserably she failed.

* * *

It was destined to be the rainiest, most miserable of all Aprils. It rained most of the time and when it was not, dark clouds hung over the grounds. Everyone in the castle grew restless and on edge, including Draco Malfoy.

Something was wrong with the Greengrasses. For a solid week, Daphne continually walked out of class anytime the Carrows demonstrated some particularly brutal curse. In other classes, she would simply hide behind a book and silently cry. Even Pansy was worried about her, which struck Draco as rather odd, considering the two girls had fallen out of touch.

"She won't talk about it," Pansy shrugged, checking her nails. "And now she spends all her time with her bratty little sister…"

Draco had not seen Little Greengrass since their last encounter and when he did, he hardly recognized her—she looked as though she was about to fall asleep at any moment and her face was pinched and gaunt. He overheard Nott begging her to 'just eat something, damn it.' While Draco had gained confidence and swagger, Greengrass lost it completely. She did not even walk with her head up anymore. Meanwhile, the Carrows continued to borrow her for misbehaving members of The Old Coot's Army and everyone else in the school continued to hate her for being the Carrow's little pet.

In the interim, tension in the castle built and with the way the Gryffindors glanced at each other, Draco knew that they were planning something. Something big.

* * *

It never got easier. It never hurt less. It never settled.

Astoria could not shake it, nor could she fight it. She could not reverse it, nor could she fix it. Death was irreversible. As far as grief and sorrow went, they faded, but not completely. It was nearly impossible to describe her feelings. Some days she was angry at the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters, or sometimes her parents. Some days she was bitter that her mother and father left her alone and placed such a burden on her shoulders. On other days she grew sad and wanted to do nothing but cry. Other days she wanted to laugh when thinking about her fonder memories with her parents. But most of the time, she shut down completely and settled for apathy—it was easier to not feel and be numb to the world, but little things brought her back down to earth.

Sometimes it was a look from Daphne, who felt everything and shared all of her feelings because she was capable of sorting those kinds of things out. Sometimes, it was as simple as a blanket from Theo when she sat too far away from the fire to keep warm or when he would gently place a cup of tea in front of her. Other days, she saw Finnigan in the hallway and remembered how he told her to stop being a robot.

(Speaking of Finnigan, he ran directly into her and said, "Watch it, Greengrass," before walking away. Astoria felt something fall into her robes pocket and reached inside after he had left. A little scrap of paper held messy scrawl: _If you need someone to talk to, I'm your secret keeper._ Astoria was not amused and bumped into him the next day. "Watch it, Finnigan," she snorted before dropping a piece of parchment into his pocket. It said: _Fuck off, Finnigan._)

But death was never an easy thing to accept or comprehend. And thus, April dragged on.

* * *

Longbottom must have fancied himself a human quill sharpener, because by the time he dashed out of Muggle Studie after taunting Alecto, his face sure did look like it.

Draco had monitored a detention where Longbottom was supposed to torture another student. When he refused, Alecto made a deep slash across his face and then Longbottom willingly took the place of the student in detention and waited for Draco's Cruciatus Curses. Longbottom's next scar came when he very placidly raised his hand during Muggle Studies and asked Alecto a deadly question:

"Professor Carrow, and might I inquire how much Muggle blood you and your brother have?"

The woman looked positively incensed and screamed before making another cut on Longbottom's face. He laughed as the blood dripped off his jaw and stood up. "Might want to get a mop for that mud you have in your blood!" he cried out before dashing out of the room, the 7th year Gryffindors hooting and hollering in joy at his grand escape. Alecto ran after him screaming and shooting curses down the hallway, but to no avail.

Longbottom had disappeared, but no one seemed unnerved by this. Everyone knew he was hiding under their own noses and slowly, known members of The Old Coot's Army started to disappear just as Longbottom did: with some grand act of defiance and then a silence that promised that there was more trouble to come.

* * *

Astoria was growing rather weary of people telling her what to do.

When she sat in the library with a book, Fiona Davis, the Ravenclaw in her year and younger sister to Slytherin Tracey Davis, sat down across from her. The girls did their work in peace until Fiona spoke up.

"How are you?" she asked. Astoria looked up from her book, perplexed.

"Well," she warily responded. "Why?"

"My sister mentioned that you and your sister seemed to be going through tough times recently," the Ravenclaw shrugged.

"And why should you care?" Astoria raised her brow.

"It's none of my business—"

"Precisely."

"—but I thought I would ask anyway. You're not the nicest person in the world, Greengrass, but I'm guessing you don't quite deserve the hand you were dealt with," Fiona continued. They were silent for a moment. "There is still time to change…" she hinted and Astoria shook her head vehemently.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" she hissed, snapping her book shut. "You do not see me asking you about some plan involving Polyjuice Potion, do you? It ought to be finished now…"

"Touché, Greengrass," Fiona said hollowly, returning her gaze to her book as Astoria walked away. "You are probably the brightest girl in Hogwarts, you know? I'm sure you'll sort everything in the end." Astoria did not stop walking until she felt someone slam into her. Someone's hand prevented her head from cracking on the stone floor and she looked up to a pair of amber eyes.

"Greengrass! Just the girl I been lookin' for!" Finnigan grinned. Astoria knew the breath had been knocked out of her and she gasped for air. "Breathless? I know," he sighed as he pulled himself off her and picked her up with the same ease as one picks up a toddler. "I tend to have that effect on the ladies," he winked. There was shouting behind him and he looked over his shoulder casually before gripping Astoria's shoulders. She had no time to retort before he spoke again: "Got to mess with the Carrows to live a little, and got to run away from the Carrows to live a lot—I'll tell ye all about it when they're not tryin' to kill me."

"Fucking _hell_, Finnigan…"

"Do me a favor and live a little, Greengrass. Catch you later, lassie!" he cried as he dashed off. Just then, the Carrows came sliding around the hallway, but Finnigan's laughter had already disappeared around the corner.

"He went that way," Astoria vaguely pointed in some direction and the Carrows took off.

"Who was that?" Fiona popped her head out of the library to hear what the ruckus was about.

"Finnigan," Astoria responded and Fiona sighed.

"Fucking Finnigan," she murmured.

"Fucking foolish Finnigan," Astoria supplied. They stood looking at each other for a moment before parting ways. Astoria decided that had their situations been a bit different, they could have maybe been good friends. Although it seemed as though everyone she had been trying to avoid suddenly grew chummy with her. Even Sodding Summerby had his two Sickles to offer.

"You said," he whispered during Dark Arts one day, "to not hate you for what you've done, but hate you for who you are. And I can't hate you, so that should solve the problem right there. But what if what you do is who you are?"

"It is not," Astoria whispered before glaring at him to not continue the conversation in class. He took the hint and afterward followed her outside, his head of light brown hair bobbing behind her.

"I was always taught that actions spoke louder than words," he pursued.

"Sod off, Summerby."

"Astoria," he sighed, "I know something really bad has happened to you. I can tell just by looking at you," he added sheepishly.

"I do not care to listen to your suspicions, Summerby." He stepped in front of her.

"What I'm trying to say is that one day, you're going to realize exactly when things started to go wrong for you and you're going to wish you could go back and make it right again."

"Have you ever considered, Summerby," Astoria purred, "that this day you speak of has come and gone and nothing has changed?" she smiled a wry, ironic grin. She left him stunned in the hallway as she plowed on through the crowd.

Indeed, April was not one of her finer months. Her inability to process her emotions ate her from the inside out. Daphne overflowed with a multitude of emotions and looked like she was falling apart every day. Conversely, Astoria aimed to appear apathetic and put together, but always felt like she was about to burst at the seams. On day, Zabini delivered a few tactless words to Daphne, who burst in tears and left the room.

"Really Zabini? Did you forget to take your decent-human-being potion when you woke up this morning?" Astoria sarcastically asked.

"It's not my problem if she's over-sensitive," Zabini muttered darkly. "It's like it's been that time of the month for the entire month of April."

"You pull off the 'thoughtless wanker' look quite well," Astoria snapped. Theo shrugged in agreement. (She did not have to tell Theo Nott what passed—he knew in one look from her. It made things easier: she did not want to have to talk about it and Theo wasn't much of a talker anyway.)

"Better than constantly looking like I'm an inch away from a mental breakdown," he retorted. "And yes, I'm talking about you, Little Greengrass."

"Oh, I am terribly sorry I am not a rich, pretty boy who gets all that he asks for on a shiny gold platter," Astoria snapped back at him.

"Oh, and I am terribly sorry that I am not a frigid, plain girl whose life story is a poorly written tragedy," Zabini retorted without missing a beat.

"Cut it out, Zabini," Theo interjected, surprising everyone. "It is not Astoria's fault that you pushed _her_ away, so stop being a bitter arse." Zabini seemed shocked and Astoria was confused: the 'her' did not refer to herself, but some other girl. However, she knew that it was time to make her exit and left the common room to go feed the thestrals that she could not even see. For some reason, being with creatures so connected with death made things easier to bear. Plus, she could be alone. Then again, even when she sought out solitude, it was almost always interrupted.

It started with Nott's white face begging her for help. Next thing she knew she was talking to Corner, tickling a pear, dashing through the corridors, and removing memories. Little did she know, this would be only a taste of what would come in the next few weeks, when Hogwarts would explode with flashes of fatal green light as evil descended upon the castle.

* * *

Draco's relationship with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle was complicated. All their fathers were "business partners" (aka Death Eaters), so they grew up together. Draco was always the ring leader—his father told him he was better than the two dim-witted buffoons, but that it was important to have allies. Keep them close and keep them in command, his father advised him and Draco did just that. He was smarter than Crabbe and Goyle, better-looking, had a better lineage, was more properly raised, and was far, far richer than them… _combined._

Despite the fact that the three boys grew up together, they always referred to each other by their last names. It was odd, considering he had known Blaise for less time and called him by his given name. Perhaps he had picked up the habit from his father, who he had seen call Crabbe Senior and Goyle Senior by their last names. His father, like Draco, always considered them more like lackeys than friends—convenient to do his bidding, but not worthy to trust wholly. So, it should have been no surprise that they began to rebel during the Vanishing Cabinet Fiasco.

Crabbe, with his soft voice and adoration for his pet Crup, and Goyle, with his dim and cowardly ways, almost overnight became Death Eater prodigies while Draco was shoved down the social hierarchy, all because they had a particular penchant for performing the Cruciatus Curse. Hardly fair, if you asked Draco, but it seemed as though brawn was valued over brains. Draco was malleable, but Crabbe and Goyle were like Pansy: blind followers who never questioned their orders and never contemplated the consequences. It made them good Death Eaters, whereas Draco had been a piss-poor one recently, failing at everything he tried to do.

Nonetheless, not having the two men at his back was an odd feeling. For his entire life, they had aimlessly followed him around and now Draco had been eliminated from the trio. The three were never very close, but he knew their minute nuances enough to gauge their moods. Draco knew that Goyle could barely function if Little Greengrass was in the room and he knew that Crabbe desperately wanted to have a go at Pansy, but could hardly utter and intelligible sentence to the bird. Not having Crabbe and Goyle following his every order and waiting on his every word made him almost feel lonely—but not quite, because they were terrible companions. In a way, he felt responsible for them because he was smarter than them and knew better, but Draco Malfoy was responsible for no one but himself.

Indeed, "complicated" was the word.

* * *

She didn't even recognize the bangs and screams that came from the dungeons anymore. It had become an ambiance, a background noise. Astoria heard them very distinctly, but learned to not mind them. The muted noises remind her that she wasn't the one in the room handing out the punishment or being the one punished. Before, she used to count the screams, willing herself to not forget the horrors that were going on in the castle. Now, she wanted to forget and fade away. Sometimes, though, the screaming slipped into her dreams and she imagined that her parents were being tortured and she woke up herself, screaming and sobbing. Her roommates—Lindsay, Annie, and Mel—woke up with a start and asked her what happened, but Astoria could not calm herself down for a good few minutes.

"Nightmare," she offered as an explanation and then rushed to the toilet to empty her stomach. The thought of her parents at the opposite end of the curse that she delivered nearly every week made her want to vomit. When she steadied her stomach and her nerves, she brushed her teeth and slipped down into the common room, knowing she would not be able to sleep in her bed. When she did wake up the next morning, Theo sat placidly on the couch across from her, looking a little tired himself as he pushed a cup of tea toward her. Next to him, Draco sat with his potions book. He looked up for a moment to run his eyes over Astoria and his brows knitted together for a split second before he returned to his book.

But that was a week ago. It was now evening and no one but her was in the common room. Astoria had finished a long and exhausting supplementary lesson beating up and torturing Ernie Macmillan, who the Carrows thought had information pertaining to the location of the missing members of Dumbledore's Army. The Hufflepuff had given up nothing, making the lesson go on and on until he passed out beyond the point where they were able to revive him. Astoria was mandated to deposit his unconscious form at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room before she headed back to her own House. Theo had a supplementary lesson with the Carrows right after hers and so after she cleaned up, she waited for his return and opened a book. It was a little difficult to read with the muted screams floating from the dungeon and seeping into the Slytherin common room, but she shoved them into the back of her mind until she saw Theo's pale and shaking form in the doorframe.

"I do not know what to do," he croaked the admission that Astoria never thought would fall from the omnipotent Theo's lips. "Please help me," he begged and Astoria nodded before grabbing her wand and following him out the door. They entered the dungeons and she saw Tracey Davis cradling her younger sister's battered body as Amycus Carrow lay unconscious on the floor.

"What happened?" Astoria asked, realizing that she had leapt too quickly out of her loyalty to Theo.

"I had… I had Fiona for detention and Tracey just burst in and Stunned Amycus and now I do not know what to do," he stammered, more shaken than Astoria had ever seen him before. "I would not ask if I knew another way," he quickly said when he saw the apprehension on Astoria's face.

He knew she was already walking a fine line. He knew that the Carrows constantly questioned her loyalties. He knew that her parents were dead and her uncle was in hiding. He knew that she was just trying to get by and avoid taking sides. Theo knew all this and still asked her and so Astoria gave a curt nod of her head.

"Maybe…" his mind began to click, "maybe a memory charm."

"I can remove memories, but not modify them. And he will know something is missing and will still be on the lookout for Tracey," Astoria said to Theo, then she turned to the Davis sisters. "Are you willing to go into hiding with Dumbledore's Army?" Astoria asked and the two girls looked at each other before nodding their heads.

"It's high time we both take a side," Tracey said, pushing back tears as she stroked her sister's back.

"Then, I think I have a plan. Fiona, do you know where Corner is?"

"Michael?" Fiona whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. "He… he should be in the library, researching stuff for DA," she managed. Her crimson blood was vibrant against her pale skin.

"You tortured him to an inch of his life, Greengrass," Tracey snapped. "You're not going to get anything from him."

"Well, he is our only connection to Longbottom and Finnigan at the moment, so it will have to do," Astoria sighed. "Keep him unconscious," she gestured to Amycus' limp form. At last, Theo's brain began to start functioning again.

"Astoria, you know what this all means, don't you?" he asked before Astoria slipped out of the dungeon. "The Master of Memory? Dumbledore's Army? Everything?"

"I know," Astoria said with resignation and hurried to the library. She quickly identified Ravenclaw Michael Corner hunched over a stack of books in the back of the library. No one else was in the vicinity, so she sat down across from him. He did a double take when he looked up and saw her casting charms around them to protect their conversation.

"What, Greengrass?" he asked, abhorrence dripping in his words.

"I am going to cut to the point, Corner. I know you do not trust me, but at this moment, I need to talk to Longbottom or Finnigan," she said quickly as Corner studied her with confusion.

"I am not sure why you would think that I would know their whereabouts," he said cautiously.

"The Davis sisters need to go into hiding now. There was a little mishap in detention and Tracey and Fiona are no longer safe," Astoria continued. "We cannot have them anywhere near the Slytherins. They need to get out before they get us all in trouble. We need to get them to wherever Dumbledore's Army is hiding."

"What kind of mishap?"

"I know Dumbledore's Army is brewing Polyjuice Potion. And you, researching transfiguration charms to change a person's appearance," Astoria snatched a book away from him. "What would the Carrows think of that?" she probed.

"What do you want?" Corner growled, knowing that she was blackmailing him.

"To talk to Longbottom or Finnigan so they know to expect two more people, wherever they are hiding," Astoria exasperatingly explained.

"And how do I know this is not a trap?"

"You do not. You have to believe me."

"I can't. You're a Slytherin and the Carrow's precious pet to boot," he snapped and Astoria sighed.

"You are making this far more complicated than it already is and I do not have time to deal with this," she nearly pounded the table in frustration. "What if I brought you to the Davises? Would that convince you?" she relented, knowing it was one more kink in her plan.

"And what if that is a trap?" the Ravenclaw inquired.

"Then we are all fucked," Astoria tossed her hands up and rose from her chair. "Come on, we need to make this look good," she grabbed his arm and shoved her wand behind his back. "Walk, Corner. To the dungeons."

To everyone else, it looked like a normal scene: a Slytherin leading some traitor to The Cause to the dungeons for "interrogation." When Astoria and Michael Corner slipped into the dungeons, Theo and Tracey nearly Stunned them both.

"What's he doing here?" Theo hissed.

"He would not believe me," Astoria snapped back. "It was the only way."

"Corner, if you don't get us to where the rest of the DA is hiding, I swear to God and to Merlin and to Salazar that I will put Astoria's little torture session with you to shame—" Tracey violently threatened and Corner threw up his hands in surrender, looking scared out of his wits.

"Fine! Greengrass, follow me." Astoria nodded and cast an invisibility charm over them before grabbing Corner's jumper and shoving him toward the door. They walked quickly and silently through the castle. It seemed as though they were heading toward the Hufflepuff House when Corner stopped in front of a painting and told her to tickle the pear. Astoria thought it was ludicrous but followed the instructions and a door knob appeared. She yanked it open and her eyes went wide when she saw where she was: the Hogwarts kitchens. Corner took off the invisibility charm, opened a drawer, pulled out parchment and a quill and began to write.

"Does Mister Corner have a special order?" a House Elf squeaked. Corner handed the paper to the House Elf.

"See to this immediately. And in the meanwhile, I would like a slice of last night's pie," he ordered and the House Elf bowed and Disapparated as another House Elf slid a plate toward Corner. He then shoved the plate toward Astoria.

"I do not have _time,_" she hissed, "to eat pie."

"Well you are skin and bones, so you look like you could use it," Corner shrugged. "Our special order should be back in just a few minutes. Might as well." Astoria rolled her eyes and placed a bit of pie in her mouth. The last time she had eaten was lunch, and then she only ate some bread and cheese. The two waited in silence, neither wanting to open a conversation lest they give any of their secrets away. Luckily, the House Elf soon returned with a piece of parchment. Corner read the contents and nodded to the House Elf. Astoria pointedly looked at Corner, who handed her the note and ordered her to finish eating her pie. The note said:

_Bring them precisely on the hour to the seventh floor corridor opposite of the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry. Keep out of sight and make sure no one follows you._

"What time is it?" Astoria asked after gulping down her last bit of pie.

"Fifteen until nine," Corner checked his pocket watch.

"Shit!" Astoria scrambled out of the kitchens and began to briskly walk toward the dungeons again. When she arrived, she was once again almost Stunned. "We need to go. Now. Can you walk?" Astoria asked Fiona.

"I think I can," she nodded.

"We need to move fast. No, Theo, you have to stay and make sure Amycus stays unconscious," she said to the young man.

"I need to make sure they're safe," he growled.

"It has to be me to deliver them," Astoria insisted. "Otherwise, Longbottom and crew will think we are trying to trick them and they will back off and we will all be fucked." Theo seemed unconvinced, but Astoria shot him down. "Hurry, we have only five minutes get to the seventh floor unnoticed," she urged Tracey and Fiona.

They were at the door when Theo called out Tracey's name. He said it so oddly that Astoria could not identify the emotion etched in the single word. Perhaps sadness, regret, or worry—or maybe it was something else all together. She did not know. Theo never got to see Tracey's response because just then, Astoria performed the invisibility charm and they snuck out of the dungeons. They walked quickly and silently to the seventh floor. Luckily, there was no one in sight when the clock struck nine. Suddenly, she saw a door appear from the wall. Longbottom's scarred and bruised face appeared in the doorway and beckoned the Davis girls to enter. He let the two invisible girls slip into the door before he spoke with a smile on his face.

"Thank you, Astoria," Longbottom said happily. "And Seamus sends his regards." The door then shut and disappeared. Astoria shook her head and hurried back down to the dungeons, where Theo paced the room. Immediately, she took a deep breath, steadied her wand, and looked at Theo.

"You know what I must do?" Astoria asked Theo. He nodded.

"Just… promise to tell me what happened once the gossip dies down," he said before kneeling in front of her.

"_Stupefy!_" Astoria cried and he crumpled to the ground. "_Obliviate_," she said, fixing on Theo's memories. She saw Tracey Davis enter the dungeons with a spell aimed at Amycus Carrow before whirling around to face Theo. Astoria cut the memory just there, all the way up to the darkness after Astoria Stunned Theo. Then, she left the room and waited.

The next day, whispers went around the school that Tracey Davis entered the dungeons, Stunned Amycus Carrow and Theodore Nott, and took some of the Slytherin's memories before escaping with her younger sister. To everyone's surprise, Tracey Davis was revealed as the Master of Memory, the savior of those who were able to forget their pain after being tortured with the Cruciatus. Only a handful of people knew better. The Davis sisters disappeared and no one saw them again until Tracey Davis stayed behind at Hogwarts to fight alongside Dumbledore's Army.

* * *

"You are breaking so many rules right now," Draco tutted when he saw Little Greengrass on the Astronomy Tower around one in the morning at the end of April. She quickly whirled around with her wand dangerously leveled at his chest.

"You are breaking the same rules as we speak," she cheekily retorted.

"Except I am a Prefect," he rejoined with a smirk.

"You _were_ a Prefect," she snidely corrected him.

"I still get special privileges," he glanced down at his left arm for a moment.

"As do I, for being the Carrow's precious protégé," Little Greengrass added. "You are disrupting my solidarity. Leave," she primly ordered and Draco nearly laughed.

"No, because I came in search of solidarity and so you are disrupting me as much as I am disrupting you."

"No, I believe you are doing the majority of the disrupting," she responded churlishly.

"That is an atrocious accusation. Slanderous, even," Draco shook his head, possibly enjoying a little too much how she got so easily flustered. In all fairness, he had not been able to bully anyone in a long time, so it was rather overdue. "Since we are performing equal amounts of disruption, perhaps we ought to both leave."

"No, I arrived here first," Little Greengrass shot down the suggestion.

"Then I suppose we will have to ignore each other," Draco sighed before turning around. He began to mentally count to himself, knowing that by the time he reached five, Little Greengrass would say something.

"You must be pretty swell at ignoring things, Malfoy," she said carefully.

"I do not understand your meaning."

"How can you even stand here after what you almost did right there?" she asked, shaking her head. Draco was taken aback and then understood her meaning: Dumbledore.

"Actually, I stood here," he walked a few paces to the left, "and he stood right where you stand now."

"And you could not do it? Disarm him, but not kill him?"

"That is correct, Greengrass. Do I sense an edge of derision in your tone?" he sneered.

"Even if you did not kill him, you still got him killed," Little Greengrass thought aloud.

"Your point?"

"How do you live with yourself?"

"I could ask you the same exact question, Greengrass," Draco warily replied.

"Oh no: those two words are different from that one word. The former is the most unforgivable Unforgivable."

"What is more forgivable, Greengrass," Draco began to propose. "Doing the wrong thing for the right reason or doing the right thing for the wrong reason?"

"It all depends on the circumstances, I suppose," she bit her lip.

"Let us use ourselves. The wrong thing for the right reason: performing the Cruciatus Curse to protect your sister. The right thing for the wrong reason: not killing Dumbledore because I was a coward. Which one is more forgivable?" he asked. Little Greengrass seemed to think for a long moment.

"I do not know," she responded at last.

"You do not know?" Draco taunted her.

"That is what I said, Malfoy," she angrily snapped at him. "What I want to know is how you can ignore it, forget it all and still stand here?" Her question seemed genuine and Draco was a bit too tired to be a complete ass, so he responded honestly.

"I never forget, Greengrass. One can try, but it will never happen." His response seemed to deliver a blow to her chest as she leaned against the stone. They were quiet before he spoke again. "Odd thing with the Davis sisters," he murmured, hoping to get something out of it.

"What do you think happened?" she asked, not giving anything away, much to his disappointment.

"Tracey wanted to protect her little sister and she was lucky they both got away. But…"

"But…?"

"But I bet Nott helped them. But she took away his memories, so I suppose we will never know," Draco said. A ghost of a smile flit across Little Greengrass' face.

"Oh, the secrets this castle keeps," she sighed, tilting her head skyward.

"The younger Davis is lucky to have a sister like Tracey to look after her," Draco prodded.

"Lucky indeed," Little Greengrass growled.

"Daphne hardly looks after you," Draco mused aloud, knowing that he was angering Little Greengrass. "If anything, it is the other way around. Has it always been that way?" Little Greengrass glared at him. "I will take that as a yes," he nodded. "I bet it grows old, always having to step up and take burdens that should not belong to you," he goaded.

"Please, Malfoy, just stop while you are ahead," Little Greengrass said weakly, much to Draco's surprise. He didn't think it would be that easy and so he continued.

"She cries all the time. She can never sit through a Dark Arts class without getting up and leaving. And you, with your baggy uniform and dark circles under your eyes and the way Nott looks at you like you are about to break at any moment—something happened."

"Frankly, I am surprised that you pay attention to anyone but yourself, Malfoy. Even you must admit it is a rather uncharacteristic move," she crossed her arms. "I am surprised that you notice anything going on around the castle."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that Dumbledore's Army is definitely planning something. So much tension is in the air right now—they are waiting for the right moment to strike."

"Well, it ought to be soon," Draco shrugged and Little Greengrass appeared surprised.

"How do you know?" she asked. Draco rolled up his sleeve. She did not flinch, but looked at the Mark in confusion.

"It twitches when something is about to happen," he said as the skin on his forearm shuddered. "It will not be long before the war comes to Hogwarts."

"I think we are passed that point, Malfoy," Little Greengrass sighed.

"Oh, that reminds me, how are your parents?" Draco asked, feeling like the conversation was getting a little too comfortable.

"Dead," she responded and it was the last thing he expected to hear. He went silent, not sure what to say, if it was wise to say anything at all. "You cannot be too surprised, Malfoy," she turned to look at him. "That is what happens to blood traitors." Her pale green eyes seemed to burn him, but thankfully, she glanced away again. They were quiet for awhile.

"What will happen next?"

"Does anyone know that, Malfoy?" she asked quietly, her vibrant green eyes piercing him once again. This time, he was the one who looked away.

Days later, as a Killing Curse flew past Little Greengrass' head, he would realize that the green of her eyes and the green of the spell matched perfectly. In short, she would be the death of him.


	15. Chapter 12: Run or Riot

_Authors's ote: Dear Readers, you are kick-ass people. Rock on, friends. Seriously, it took just two chapters to fly up from 64 to 86 favorites and 73 to 101 alerts. And 206 reviews, 24 for the last chapter alone? You are AMAZING people! And to show just how amazing I think you are, this chapter is extra long, pretty much a chapter and a half, but I gave it to you in all one chunk. Isn't that nice?_

_Hence, the battle begins here. Sentences and chunks of dialogue directly from the canon will be kept in italics, because I don't really own Harry Potter. Bummer, I know. Is anyone else jazzed up about Pottermore? I am going to try to get in for the next round of early registration tomorrow! But I digress... without further ado, I give you Chapter 12._

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 12: Run or Riot_

"This is River, reporting for Potterwatch!" cried an amplified voice over the buzz of the Great Hall at lunch. All the teachers looked up—some in horror, but most in surprise—and the clatter of silverware died. "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley have been spotted escaping Gringotts—and on a dragon, no less!" Everyone looked at each other in amazement while the Carrows stood up and shouted threats to the student who was causing the mischief, but the volume of the hidden radio only grew louder. "It is suspected that our favorite trio broke into Gringotts bank—no one knows what they took, but let's hope that it will help Harry defeat You-Know-Who!"

"More like You-Know-Poo!" chimed in two people in the background of the radio. Their jocular laughter proved contagious and everyone in the castle could not help but grin and snigger.

"So, you heard it here on Potterwatch: Harry broke into Gringotts and escaped on a dragon. No telling what he'll do next!"

"Stop that! Stop that this instance!" Alecto cried, stamping her foot like a child.

"So if you're listening, Harry—which you're probably not, because you are on a bloody _dragon _for crying out loud—know that we all support you and hope you succeed. Let us not forget those who have fallen and those whose lives are in danger." A number of heads bowed in the Great Hall and Astoria found herself thinking of her mother and father, who had tried to keep her out of this mess, and had died and failed in their mission. "Well, that's all for today! Check in on Potterwatch later and until then, keep the hope alive. This was River, for Potterwatch. Over and out."

It was the afternoon of May 1st and most of the student body at Hogwarts was standing and clapping as the Carrows sputtered and Snape absentmindedly pushed his food on his plate. Just then, the radio appeared at the Carrows feet and they immediately shot a _Reducto_ spell at it, hoping it would explode. Well, it did explode… into fireworks. It was the sort of thing that would have made Fred and George Weasley smile and Astoria laughed for the first time in forever at the sight of the colorful lights bursting in the Great Hall.

Terry Boot slipped out of the room when the Carrows at last saw him, but by that time, most of the students were on their feet, dancing and running around, surreptitiously casting tripping jinxes on the Carrows, who were trying to catch the culprit. Astoria could not stop smiling, even after the lights faded and the bangs in the Great Hall stopped. It was a lovely sight.

However, later that evening, there would be lights and bangs in the castle, but those of a different kind. And, there would be no reason to smile.

* * *

He could hear Little Greengrass' mocking, but joyous laughter down the table when Terry Boot set off the fireworks in the Great Hall. The older Slytherins hardly reacted, feeling rather ill that morning.

"Can you feel it?" Blaise shivered, his face looking rather flushed. Draco nodded his head and glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, who had been nervously twisting their left arm for the past few days. Their Mark was coming alive and Draco had an inkling that the Dark Lord was pissed. He probably found out about the Gringotts break-in. Everyone in His way would be punished and during the moment of silence in the radio broadcast, Draco hoped that his mother and his father did not have to break the terrible news to the Dark Lord. Oddly enough, he then thought of Little Orphan Greengrass—she did not have parents to worry about anymore. Her head was bowed. She was probably thinking of them. Just then, his Mark twitched rather painfully and he nearly choked on his bite of sandwich. Her parents were dead and she sat there, smiling at the pretty lights and he quite despised her.

* * *

"No." The word fell from her lips before she could stop it and Alecto Carrow looked at her in deep surprise.

"No?" the woman asked and Astoria shrunk away. But she could not take her words back—no, she could not. It was just after dinner on the evening of May 1st. When Astoria reported to the dungeons, Terry Boot limped out of the room, utterly bruised but grinning triumphantly as he limped away. Apparently, the Carrows' appetite had not been satisfied, so they had brought a little 'present' for Astoria—a present in the form of Hannah Abbott. She had been tortured a number of times before, but now she sat on the dungeon floor sobbing, begging, and pleading with the Carrows to spare her. It fell on deaf ears and Astoria wondered what had her so worked up.

"Hush hush, Abbott, and take your punishment like a good witch," Alecto crooned.

"Please, no, _please,_ I beg of you—I will do _anything_ if you don't Cruciate me. Please, _anything_ but the Cruciatus. _Please…_" Hannah Abbott continued to sob. Astoria arched a brow at the sobbing girl. "Greengrass, please_,_ _please_ don't do this," the girl lunged at Astoria, who deftly stepped aside.

"Enough, Abbott. Greengrass, begin with the Cruciatus," Alecto sneered and girl released a scream before Astoria even cast the spell. It was such a chilling scream, one of pure horror, that Astoria found she could not perform the spell. She rolled her head and shoulders around to loosen herself up. Astoria steadied her wand and the spell was on the tip of her tongue when Abbott spoke.

"I'm pregnant. Please don't." It came out as a whisper but it filled the room. Abbott? Pregnant…?

"Oh ho!" Alecto cackled. "This gets better and better! Do it, Greengass! Cast the curse!" Astoria half-expected the insane woman to begin jumping up and down with excitement, while Astoria looked on in horror. There was no way she could do it. She could torture Abbott, but not an unborn baby. So, the single word fell from her lips before she could stop it. Alecto looked at her curiously.

"I will not curse her." Astoria's sudden defiance caught Alecto off-guard, who normally would have pursued the name of the father and made him weep for his unborn child.

"And why not?" Alecto snapped and Astoria looked at the Death Eater coldly. "So now you have developed a conscience, Greengrass?" Alecto sneered and Astoria did not dare to respond. Abbott looked at her with eyes wide in admiration and hope. "Curse her or I will curse you!" A cold chill slid down Astoria's spine. She could not willingly put herself through that pain again.

"If you want to do it so bad, why do you not do it yourself instead?" Astoria challenged. "The Cruciatus will affect the unborn child—"

"Do you think I'm stupid, Greengrass?" Alecto shrieked before slapping Astoria across the face. She stumbled backward, tasting blood. She wiped the corner of her mouth and bit her tongue to not retort to Alecto that yes, she thought she was very stupid. "You foolish little girl!" the witch cried, magically dragging Astoria toward her and forcing her to her knees. Astoria looked up at the Death Eater, waiting for the painful curse to come when her eyes fixed on the Dark Mark branded on Alecto's arm. The snake was moving quite fluidly now, sliding across the skin. Alecto caught Astoria's gaze and the woman held up her arm to the meager lights in the dungeon. "It is time," she whispered gleefully, a slow smile spreading across her face. Forgetting entirely about the two students on the dungeon floor, Alecto nearly pranced from the room.

Astoria blinked, not believing her luck, while Hannah Abbott began to sob in relief. Astoria Summoned the Hufflepuff's wand back and handed it to her. Abbott began to thank her profusely and even went so far as trying to _hug_ Astoria (_really?_), but Astoria cut her off.

"Do not thank me yet," she said, gently shoving the Hufflepuff away. "Does… does he know? The father?"

"No, not yet," Abbott said sheepishly. "He already has enough to worry about."

"Well, I am sure he is worried about you as we speak, so you should really get out of here. Now." The girl needed no further encouragement and leapt out of the dungeons. It was only then that Astoria realized the weight of Alecto's words: _it was time._ She ran out of the dungeons and into the Slytherin common room. Theo sat perched on a couch opposite from Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were clutching their left arms and appeared to be in great pain.

"I thought you had a lesson…?" Theo asked. "And why are you bleeding?" Astoria wiped the corner of her mouth where Alecto's hand connected with her face.

"Alecto hit me," she shrugged. "The lesson ended early—Alecto said it was time," Astoria said as meaningfully as possible and the four young Death Eaters looked at her grimly. "What… what is happening?"

"He… He is mad, I think," Malfoy whispered. "The Dementors are closing in on us. And Potter… they say Potter is here."

"Here? At Hogwarts? How?" Astoria asked in shock. Malfoy shrugged and stood up, looking paler than normal.

"Greengrass, this is about the time where you stop asking questions," Malfoy sighed, his pale grey eyes looking at her forcefully. "Now would be the time to grab your wand, your sister, and _run._" He said it like a demand, almost like he cared, but then his lips twisted into a smirk. "Because you and I both know you have no one to look after you," he taunted her before slipping out of the common room with Crabbe and Goyle. Theo looked angry from Malfoy's audacity to assume that Theo was no longer her protector. Zabini remained sitting, before rolling up his left shirt sleeve to watch the horrendous tattoo creep across his arm.

"Where is your sister, anyway?" Blaise asked with a casual air, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

"I think your master is calling you," Astoria said lowly, turning away from him. But instead, Zabini lay down and did absolutely nothing.

* * *

"But has He said anything to you?"

"Has He said anything to _you_? Crabbe?"

"No."

"Goyle?"

"No, I don't think so." Draco rolled his eyes. "But He's coming, right?" Goyle scratched his head. Draco sighed in exasperation and ripped up his shirtsleeve, revealing his Dark Mark, pulsating and sliding across his skin with fervor.

"Of course He is, you dolt! That means Potter has to be here!"

"I thought we already knew that," Crabbe mused.

"No, it was only speculation, hearsay, gossip. He would not be called unless they were sure," Draco explained.

" 'They…'?"

"Either Snape or the Carrows. Who else? Potter must be here. I have to find him."

"But I thought he's already been found…" Goyle sighed, scuffing his feet on the ground. Draco did not deign to explain that he needed to find Potter to bring his family glory. Just then, they heard the sound of breaking glass and Professor McGonagall shouting, _"Coward! COWARD!"_

The three boys looked out the window—where the hell was Blaise Zabini?—and saw a giant bat flying outside the window. Draco knew instinctively that it was Snape while Crabbe and Goyle badgered him, asking him what the shape was. Malfoy told them to shut their fat gobs. When he listened again, he heard people talking from a couple of rooms over, but he could not make out the voices until they snuck out into the corridor.

"_I suggest we establish basic protection around the place, then gather our students and meet in the Great Hall. Most must be evacuated, though if any of those who are over age wish to stay and fight, I think they ought to be given the chance,"_ Professor McGonagall said and the three men looked at each other when she said the word 'fight.' Indeed, something was happening in the castle. Draco's mind already starting churning. They had to remain accounted for at first, but as soon as the hubbub of the evacuation began, they could easily slip back into the castle…

"_My word," _heaved Slughorn, rather out of breath. _"What a to-do! I'm not at all sure whether this is wise, Minerva. He is bound to find a way in, you know, and anyone who has tried to delay him will be in most grievous peril—"_

_ "I shall expect you and the Slytherins in the Great Hall in twenty minutes, also," _barked McGonagall. _"If you wish to leave with your students, we shall not stop you. But if any of you attempt to sabotage our resistance or take up arms against us within this castle, then, Horace, we duel to kill."_ Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle looked at each other with pale faces. 'Duel to kill' were her words and Draco knew better than to mess with McGonagall. Plus, Dumbledore's Army would be lurking around. His mental plan backfired. _"The time has come for Slytherin House to decide upon its loyalties. Go and wake your students, Horace."_

He needed to find Potter. He had to be with the rest of the Old Coot's Army and there was a person who could know where they were hiding. Draco grabbed Crabbe and Goyle and hauled them back to the Slytherin House, dodging suits of armor before shouting the password and bursting through the door.

"Where are the Davis sisters?" he shouted, pointing his wand at Theodore Nott.

* * *

Blaise Zabini lay on a couch in the Slytherin common room, watching the snake tattooed on his left forearm dance across the dark, sun-kissed skin. He was silent, which was worrisome for the talkative Slytherin. He appeared conflicted or paralyzed with fear. In fact, he did not stir until he bolted up, clutching his arm.

"Zabini…?" Astoria warily asked, seeing panic written across his face.

"He's here," he gulped. "They must have found Potter and called Him. He's here, He's here…" he muttered as he watching the snake on his arm gleefully slither through the skull. Astoria sunk into the couch. The Dark Lord was at Hogwarts. She could not hold onto the thought too long because just then, her sister wandered downstairs.

"Astoria, do you think…?" Daphne lost her train of thought as she saw Blaise Zabini stare at his Dark Mark. She nearly collapsed in horror and began to stammer.

"I can explain," Zabini said as he rose from the couch with a frightfully calm air.

"You can explain?" Daphne asked shrilly. "You can _explain?_" her voice went even higher and Zabini winced. "How do you explain _that_, that disgusting, hideous thing?" Daphne asked, now in tears. Zabini took a step toward her and reached out with his right hand and Daphne stumbled backward. "You stay the hell away from me, Blaise Zabini," Daphne said lowly and menacingly. It was not too often that Daphne Greengrass ever swore, so Zabini seemed to shrink an inch. "You stay the hell away," she hissed. Just then, Malfoy burst through the door with Crabbe and Goyle following him.

"Back with your tail between your legs already?" Astoria sneered. Malfoy ignored her and strode directly Theo, pointing his wand at his neck.

"Where are the Davis sisters?" he barked.

"I do not know," Theo responded and it was the honest-to-Merlin truth. When Astoria told Theo what passed that night after she took his memories, he asked her where she took the two girls.

"I cannot tell you that, Theo. You have to trust me that they are safe," Astoria told him.

"A bit unfair," he crossed his arms, "that you do not trust me and yet you expect me to trust you."

"I rather liked Fiona," Astoria relented. "And you and Tracey were… mates. And we are… well, I think you can at least trust me on this," Astoria clumsily explained. But that was a good two days ago and now Malfoy was looking for an answer.

"You were there, Nott," Malfoy seized Theo's robes, who remained unfazed. "You have to know."

"I do not. And why do you need to know, Malfoy?" he asked tauntingly.

"Why are you all awake at this hour?" Slughorn's voice burst through the room. There was an awkward pause as Slughorn took in the room—Zabini studying his arm, Malfoy holding Theo by the robes, Crabbe and Goyle standing with their wands raised, Astoria perched on the back of a couch, and Daphne sitting on the steps—and saw the four Dark Marks on the young men's arms. Hastily, they all placed their arms behind their backs or tugged down shirtsleeves. The silence continued in the room as Slughorn looked at them all warily. "Mr. Nott, please wake up all the boys and Miss Greengrass—the elder—please wake up all the girls. We are to meet in the Great Hall."

"What has happened?" Daphne asked, because she was the only person in the room who did not know.

"Not important, for now," Slughorn's voice shook. Then, he turned to the four men in the room. Malfoy was the first one to take a challenging step toward the trembling professor. Crabbe and Goyle followed, while Zabini stood behind the couch. Slughorn opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"Do you have something to say to us, professor?" Malfoy crooned and Slughorn ducked his head and muttered that he did not. Astoria knew that the professor could not challenge the Death Eaters and could not order the students to do anything—he was not their master. Instead, he shuffled over to where Astoria perched and whispered in her ear, just loud enough for her to hear over the sound of footsteps in the dorms above.

"We are going to evacuate. After we do, take your sister and run far, far away, Miss Greengrass. Just get as far away from _them_ as possible. They will use you. They will drag you down with them. Just please, _run,_" he whispered, making chills run down Astoria's spine. Even Slughorn knew she was vulnerable to the group of young Death Eaters; undoubtedly they knew her vulnerability as well. "Oh, what is taking Mr. Nott so long?" he sighed. Zabini looked as though he was going to be sick and bolted up the stairs in front of Slughorn, who began his quiet ascent to check on his students. This left Astoria, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looking at each other, not knowing what would happen next.

* * *

He turned toward the door and began to escape while Slughorn was occupied, Crabbe and Goyle following him closely.

"Where are you going?" Little Greengrass asked and something in her voice—maybe the fact that she sounded so painfully young—made him stop.

"Wherever Potter is," Draco responded sulkily.

"And what are you going to do when you find him?" she asked haughtily.

"Give him to the Dark Lord," Draco responded.

"After everything, you are going to give Him exactly what He wants?" she asked.

"It is just Potter," Draco rolled his eyes.

"You are never going to find him," Little Greengrass taunted. "He will always slip right through your fingers, just like forgiveness and redemption and all those things you want but will never, ever have."

"What's she talking about?" Crabbe whispered and Draco told him to shut up. Little Greengrass stood up to her full height (which wasn't much) and walked over to Draco. Her steps were light and calculated, collected and confident, graceful and commanding. The Tiny Terror walked right up to him and looked up at his face, her pale green eyes directly meeting his gaze. She waited for a moment as she stared him down before she finally spoke:

"Never in my life have I been so singularly disgusted and disappointed in a person. Draco Malfoy—you _coward_—you repulse me."

Her words were a knee to the gut and Crabbe pulled on his arm, whispering that they needed to go. Goyle began to open his mouth, seeming to step toward Greengrass but she gave him the same look she gave Draco. He shrunk back, swallowing hard before looking at her with sadness.

"Goodbye, Astoria," Goyle whispered before they walked out the door. Free from the watchful eyes of their professor, they ran.

* * *

The three young Death Eaters bolted from the room and as the door shut, students began to come down the stairs from their dorms with tired eyes and confused faces. Moments later, Slughorn appeared and headed directly to Astoria.

"Miss Greengrass, where did Messrs. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle go?"

"Out," she tossed her hands up, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I do not have any power to stop them."

"No, don't say that, Miss Greengrass," Slughorn suddenly gripped her shoulders. She felt rather uncomfortable, but the man looked rather nervous, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt. "You have extraordinary power," he said hoarsely. "_Extraordinary_," he repeated. He continued to look at her. "My, you look so much like your father," he sympathetically smiled and Astoria felt her eyes prickle. "Those boys…" he sighed, turning back to where Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle once stood. "Merlin help them." The room continued to fill with students. "Mr. Nott… he will protect you?" Slughorn asked hopefully and Astoria found herself nodding. The man seemed to hold back a sob as he nodded his head.

Daphne walked down the stairs with a number of the younger girls nestled against her, like chicks huddled under their mother's wing. Her blonde hair caught the firelight and her sweet smile assured the first years that everything would be alright, that they were gathering in the Great Hall, that's all, and to not be afraid.

"Oh, she is an angel," Slughorn sighed before calling for the Slytherins to organize themselves by year, and then alphabetically by last name. Theo crept up behind her and touched her shoulder.

"Where are they?" he asked, referring to Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Gone," Astoria whispered before taking her place in line. Zabini slunk down the stairs, still looking rather ill. As they all marched to the Great Hall, someone sped past her and when she looked, she saw a flash of green and knew who it was. The shouts confirmed it.

_"That was Potter!"_

_ "Harry Potter!"_

_ "It was him, I swear, I just saw him!"_

They all sat at their tables with the other students. Once they arrived in the Great Hall, the Slytherins jumped out of alphabetical order and went to the people they were closest to. Astoria practically flew over Daphne, fully prepared to shove a crying first year to the side to sit next to her sister. Luckily, Daphne and Theo sat next to each other and Astoria slipped herself right in between the two of them. Zabini mentioned nothing about Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle and instead stared straight ahead, rubbing his left arm against his pant leg.

_The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was dark and scattered with stars, and below it the four long House tables were lined with disheveled students, some in traveling cloaks, others in dressing gowns. Here and there shone the pearly white figures of the school ghosts. Every eye, living and dead, was fixed upon Professor McGonagall, who was speaking from the raised platform at the top of the Hall. Behind her stood the remaining teachers—_the Carrows were noticeably missing and Astoria sighed in relief. Severus Snape, too, was gone.

"Students! Students!" shouted Professor McGonagall over the crowd. "It has come to our attention that… that _Voldemort_ seeks to invade Hogwarts." Students whimpered at the name and murmured in fear. "Silence please! The time has come to either run or riot, and let me tell you that Hogwarts will not fall without a fight," the woman pursued. "A number of witches and wizards have already gathered to stand up against this force that has battered us for far too long. However, the safety of our students—because you all have been too innocent in this ordeal—is our first concern. Therefore, _evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects,_" McGonagall presumably addressed the students who were Prefects before Snape banned them, _"when I give the word, you will organize your House and take your charges, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point."_

_"And what if we want to stay and fight?"_ Ernie Macmillan, the Hufflepuff Astoria had tortured a few days back, stood on his table and shouted, causing a number of students to burst into applause. Astoria remembered that no one had seen Macmillan long after his punishment—she suspected that he had gone into hiding with the rest of Dumbledore's Army. Astoria frantically looked around. There was Neville Longbottom with Seamus Finnigan at his right and Dean Thomas next to the Irishman. Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil sat close to each other. No one had seen most of them for the past two weeks. Macmillan was joined at the Hufflepuff table by Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones. At the Ravenclaw table, Astoria nearly smiled when she saw Luna Lovegood admiring the starry ceiling. Beside her sat Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Padma Patil.

(Of these thirteen Dumbledore's Army members, Astoria realized that she had Cruciated seven of them—Lavender Brown, Anthony Goldstein, Susan Bones, Neville Longbottom, Michael Corner, Nigel Wespurt, and Ernie Macmillan. Three of these people did not even remember it.)

There were other faces Astoria recognized that she could not put a name to. It looked like the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team from their glory days was there, as well as practically the entire Weasley clan. There were Aurors and Centaurs and professors—there was Professor Lupin, his face worried but filled with wistful goodness that Astoria thought always lent him a rather tragic air—and so many people that Astoria did not even know. And yet, they were all there, fighting against Voldemort and fighting for Harry Potter.

Indeed, Harry Potter was there, pacing along the Gryffindor table, seeming to search for someone, his green eyes scanning over the crowd. Potter was there, at Hogwarts, in the castle, and Voldemort was coming.

_"If you are of age, you may stay,"_ said Professor McGonagall, which led to Macmillan fist-pumping the air and an audible groan from the Gryffindor table, where it seemed like everyone wanted to play soldier.

_"What about our things? Our trunks, our owls?"_ asked a Ravenclaw.

_"We have no time to collect possessions. The important thing is to get out of here safely,"_ replied McGonagall. Astoria wondered how this was possible, considering that they were practically prisoners in their own school.

_"Where's Professor Snape?"_ called out Warren Macnair.

_"He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk,"_ Professor McGonagall coyly smiled, causing cheers from the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs. The Slytherins, however, were silent and beginning to feel very uncomfortable, judging by the fidgeting hands and pale faces. _"We have already placed protection around the castle,"_ she continued while gesturing to the students to settled down, _"but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly, and do as your prefects—" _

Professor McGonagall was not able to continue because a high, cold, and clear voice cut her off. No one knew where the voice came from—it seemed to leak from every corner of the room, seeping directly into everyone's ears and chilling their souls. It was a terrible, sinister, and cruel voice, one that Astoria would never forget, one that she would hear in her nightmares for years to come.

_"I know that you are preparing to fight." _

Daphne screamed and grabbed Astoria, burrowing her tear-streaked face into Astoria's shoulder.

"_Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you." _Lies.

"_I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts." _Lies.

"_I do not want to spill magical blood." _Lies. Astoria had to force her head to keep from shaking at Voldemort's words. Then, there was silence, a silence so loud that it seemed to wrap around her neck and suffocate her. Moments later, the terrible voice came again.

"_Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded._

"_You have until midnight."_ The silence consumed them once again, but this time, everyone's head swiveled around to find Harry Potter, who was frozen by the hard stares. Just then, Pansy Parkinson stood up from the Slytherin table and began to shriek as she pointed at Potter.

_"But he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!"_ she called out but the sound of squeaking benches overpowered her voice as Gryffindors stood and faced the Slytherins, their wands prepared to protect Potter. Hufflepuffs immediately followed along with the Ravenclaws.

Hiding in with the Ravenclaws, Astoria saw Fiona Davis, her bearing weary but decided. Standing directly behind her was Tracey Davis, wand prepared to riot and her face set in cold determination as she placed her free hand protectively on her sister's shoulder. Her green Slytherin tie and robes were nowhere to be seen—she could have been from any House, but one look at the calculating and cunning expression on her face, and no one would have been able to deny that she was a Slytherin through and through. But she was a half-blood: her House had stopped acknowledging her, and so she in turn rejected her own House. Probably no one noticed the out-of-place student except Astoria, but when she glanced at Theo, she saw that he saw. At that moment, Theo did something very uncharacteristic: he grabbed Astoria's hand under the table and squeezed it hard. Right then, Astoria knew that Theodore Nott was afraid—he was afraid because he knew that Tracey was going to stay and fight.

_ "Thank you, Miss Parkinson,"_ snapped McGonagall. _"You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow." _Everyone rose, quite eager to get out. Annie, Lindsay, and Mel—Astoria's roommates—stood up in one clumped bunch, arms linked. Astoria knew that a number of the students' parents were probably lurking around the edges of the castle, waiting for their master to give His orders. Nott, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Avery, Yaxley—the fathers of Theodore, Warren, Vincent, Gregory, Draco, Mel, and Annie, respectively—were all known Death Eaters at this point. Theo's face was as white as a sheet while he rose, refusing to make eye contact with Tracey Davis, who was challengingly staring him down. Theo grabbed Astoria's elbow and forced her to rise.

"Theo…" she began to say.

"Walk," he hissed. "Not now."

Astoria had no choice. Her sister slipped her hand into Astoria's while Parkinson nudged Zabini to rise. His face was nearly as white as Theo's, his eyes unfocused and dazed. Theo walked and never looked back at the Great Hall, following Parkinson, Zabini, and Filch obediently. Astoria, however, did look back.

She saw Fiona Davis clutch her sister tightly, her back heaving as she sobbed. Tracey held her younger sister just as fiercely before pulling herself away, wiping away some of her sister's tears, and then saying something to her. Fiona nodded, closed her eyes as Tracey pressed a kiss to her forehead, and left with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Tracey Davis, however, stayed with the Ravenclaws, who seemed to consider her their own.

Theo knew all this without having to look and so he walked with Astoria and Daphne next to him. The Slytherins followed Filch to the seventh floor corridor and suddenly, Astoria knew where she was. There was the door that she had seen disappear when she went to deliver the Davis sisters. At this time, Astoria also remembered that this was the same hallway in which she had seen Draco Malfoy oddly disappear during last school year. Fear suddenly gripped her and she grabbed Theo's sleeve.

"_Not now_," Theo repeated more forcefully this time and Astoria nearly cowered from the anger laced in his words. Theo was rarely emotive, let alone visibly angry, so Astoria was taken aback. The Slytherins, followed by the Ravenclaws, walked into the room. Inside were a number of hammocks—Dumbledore's Army must have been hiding out in the room for a good two weeks. Ginny Weaselette and another woman with bright pink hair paced the room anxiously as the Slytherins began to file in. They were led to a portrait of a young blonde girl with a sweet smile and were instructed to climb inside. Astoria flicked her wand, murmuring, "_Lumos,_" to light it and walked through the narrow tunnel until they reached a sitting room with a threadbare carpet and a small fireplace. The Hog's Head bartender told them to "sit the bloody hell down and stay quiet," as he began to go through the painting to head back to Hogwarts.

So, in the second story of a bar in Hogsmeade, the students of Hogwarts gathered and waited for the rioting to begin.

* * *

They laid low for awhile, waiting for the students to evacuate Hogwarts. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle sat in an empty classroom, biding their time. Crabbe and Goyle were silent; Goyle's eyes and mind seemed to wander around the room while Crabbe picked at the dirt caked under his fingernails and tapped his wand against his leg. Draco leaned his head against the back of a desk and thought, knowing this would probably be the last quiet moment he would have to himself for a long time.

He thought about his mother and father, who were probably standing next to the Dark Lord, waiting for their orders and worrying about him. He, Crabbe, and Goyle heard the Dark Lord's voice and Draco knew what he had to do. Just like he was not ready to kill Dumbledore, he was not ready to fight a battle. Torture, fine, but play soldier? No, he was already conflicted enough.

He thought about Little Greengrass and her gut-wrenching words. He tried to retrace his steps and figure out how the Tiny Terror managed to get under his skin with only knowing so little about him. He recollected the look on her face, a look of disappointment, disgust, and repulsion. He thought about his cowardice. He thought about forgiveness and redemption and if he could ever find and obtain anything like it in this world, in this lifetime. He thought about what he would do if he had another life, but he stopped because it was utterly pointless.

So, he turned and thought about tonight, that night in May with midnight fast approaching. He thought what he could do to save his family, to change history, to obtain glory, to be praised by the Dark Lord—because he was desperate for praise, desperate to make his parents proud, desperate to know if they were alright or if they were already lying dead on the cold, stone floor of the Manor.

He thought about Potter and how he brought this onto himself for challenging the strongest wizard of all time. And there was no way that the stupid Old Coot's Army was just going to hand Potter over. Instead, they would fight. People would die—students, professors, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons—people from both sides, Death Eaters, supporters of Potter and Dumbledore, Mudbloods, blood traitors, purebloods. He thought how in a war, no one was really safe and everyone was equal in Death. He thought that if he could just find Potter, so many lives would be spared. It was for the greater good.

But where was Potter hiding? Surely, they were keeping him safe somewhere, somewhere that they knew no one could find, somewhere enclosed, off the beaten path, somewhere in the secret corners of the castle that no one knew about. And then, he realized where Potter could be: the Room of Hidden Things. It was there that Draco had spent most of his sixth year repairing the Vanishing Cabinet. He knew the room's secrets, how to find it, how to get in there. And the Old Coot's Army must have known about it too. Where else better to hide oneself than the Room of Hidden Things?

Draco stood up and tapped his wand on his forehead. It felt like he had cracked a raw egg on his head, but when he looked down, his body was gone.

"Crabbe, Goyle, Disillusionment Charms. Now," he barked and the two stumbled up and furrowed their brows in concentration. They had asked Draco a few weeks ago for help with the charm so that they could do "some spying and stuff" and Draco, feeling benevolent and figuring it would come in handy one day (considering that hiding Crabbe and Goyle was rather like trying to hide a hippogriff), taught them the charm.

"Where are we going?" Crabbe asked.

"Seventh floor corridor," Draco replied before opening the door to the classroom on the sixth floor, checking to make sure the hallway was clear, and then walking out with Crabbe and Goyle behind him. The clock at Hogwarts began to ring, slowly and ominously. It was midnight and an eerie scream ripped through the air as the castle began to stir. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle walked quietly down the sixth floor corridor and to the stairs. Already, they could hear the sounds of breaking glass, shouts, and the zing of spells as people began to move around the castle to protect it. The portraits all shouted to each other and walked into each other's canvases, talking about what was happening in different parts of the castle.

Then, the walls began to shake.

* * *

There was much crying, shouting, and desperate hugging when the students arrived at the Hog's Head. Friends and siblings were reunited and everyone had someone's hand to hold as the students sat and waited. The room was extremely stuffy, with only one tiny window up high on a wall. No one seemed to know what to do and the room was bustling with students, so Astoria's group all sat and waited. When the clock downstairs chimed twelve, everyone seemed to brace themselves. Off in the distance, through the window, they heard a wailing scream and then a low rumbling noise. Potter was still alive. The battle had begun.

Fiona Davis sat in a corner of the room, surrounded by her Ravenclaw friends, but she did not seem to notice as she wrapped her arms around her knees and stared off into the distance. Parkinson looked peeved that they were forced to wait in a room, but seeing Blaise Zabini contorted in agony, she soothingly rubbed his back and looked at Daphne triumphantly. Daphne looked away and pressed her hand into Astoria's more firmly.

The Slytherins were shunned, pushed into the far back corner of the room while the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors mingled together. Students would glance at them with hard expressions, like it was all their fault that a battle was now raging. But was it their fault? Was it their fault for following in their parent's footsteps, for accepting the hand they had been dealt? Was it their fault that they were raised with ideals and doctrines that the rest of the world now disliked? Was it their fault that they were too stubborn to change? Was it their fault that they were kids who trusted only their family and would do anything for them? Was it their fault that they were ambitious, cunning, and hungry for glory and infamy? Perhaps it was. Then again, perhaps it was not.

In war, there were always good guys and bad guys; someone had to be the bad guy and the Slytherins played the part so damn well. But did that make them all bad? Perhaps it did. Then again, perhaps it did not. Perhaps it made them misunderstood, just as caught and conflicted as everyone else. And they were young, so young, too easily molded, too easily persuaded, and too ready to pretend to be adults and take on challenges above them.

They began to bicker amongst themselves. There were mutterings about the terrible things the Slytherins had done, about the terrible things their parents had done, about how everything was their fault for instigating pureblood prejudice.

"We should have shoved the whole lot of you in Azkaban!"

"A lot of good that did, when the Dark Lord broke them out," came the retort.

"How can you call him that? A lord? He is a wizard—not a god, not a ruler, and he has no right to decide who lives and who dies!"

"Well, someone has to clean us from impurities."

"Impurities?"

Things quickly grew ugly as wands were drawn and threats were shouted across the room. At one point, Astoria and Theo stood up to shove Macnair and tell him to back down, but no one seemed to stop until Fiona Davis screamed. Everyone was still for a moment as she shakily stood up, pushing aside her friends who were trying to tell her to rest.

"All this anger and hatred started this battle in the first place! There is enough fighting going on outside so everyone just shut up and leave everyone else the hell alone!" she shouted. Someone placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shook it aside. "It doesn't have to be us versus them. You all think that there are two sides, the good side and the bad side, and everyone thinks the other side is the bad side. But you know what? Nothing is that cut and dry. It's all just shades of grey," her voice rang out over everyone. Theo kicked Macnair in the back of the legs to force him to sit.

"And perhaps when everyone realizes that, this war will be over," Fiona shook her head. Then, she began to walk toward the group of students fiddling with their green ties. "My sister is a Slytherin and she is back at the castle, fighting for Harry. And it was the Slytherins who saved my sister and me and figured out how to hide us from the Carrows. How many battles will we have to fight until we realize that it's all just shades of grey?" Fiona continued to walk until she stood in front of Astoria and Theo. There, she sat down. It was silent for a long moment until Alec Summerby stood up from his group of Hufflepuffs made his way toward Astoria. She wanted to bash her head into the wall until her sister looked at her.

"Astoria, you…?" Daphne's voice trailed off. She wanted to know if it was Astoria who saved Tracey and Fiona Davis. Astoria nodded her head the slightest bit and Daphne's face lit up as she threw her arms around her. "I'm so _proud_ of you," Daphne said and it made Astoria's heart ache to see Daphne smile for the first time since they received notification of their parents' deaths. Daphne had never taken a real stance on the war: the sisters only talked about it abstractly, as _a_ war but not _The_ Second Wizard War. Daphne, at that moment and in her own way, had taken a side while Astoria dipped her feet into both buckets.

"Hey Astoria," Alec Summerby stood over her. Astoria pulled away from her sister and arched her brow. "Can I sit with you?"

"Would you do it anyway even if I said no?"

"Probably."

"Tori!" Daphne admonished her. "Don't be mean. _Of course,_ you may sit with us," Daphne flashed Summerby a blinding smile, encouraging him to sit down and then nudging Astoria in the rubs. Theo, meanwhile, glared at Summerby.

An old witch wearing a moth-eaten hat burst up the stairs and all the students stared at her in shock.

"Have any of you seen Neville Longbottom?" she demanded and everyone was silent for a moment, still stunned at her mysterious appearance. "Longbottom, Neville Longbottom. Anyone?" she asked once again.

"He's back at the castle, up at Gryffindor Tower, mentioned something about giving the Death Eaters hell and chucking Mandrakes at them…" offered a Gryffindor. The woman looked at the student hard for a moment before she smiled.

"That's my grandson," she murmured to herself before stepping into the portrait. "Alright everyone, you're stuck here. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she winked and then the portrait froze, sealed up for good.

This was definitely not what Astoria thought waiting out a battle would be like.

* * *

Granger and Weasley were kissing. No, they were full on _snogging_. Draco wanted to gag—really, was the middle of a battle the proper time to declare undying love? At least Potter had the same sentiment and weakly said:

"_Is this the moment?"_ When there was no response, _"OI! There's a war going on here!"_ At last Granger and Weasley broke apart (thank _Merlin_).

"_I know mate," _said Weasley, who looked like he had been hit in the head by a Bludger one too many times (and one would have to be to find Granger remotely attractive), _"so it's now or never, isn't it?"_

"_Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?" _Potter shouted and Draco looked at Crabbe and Goyle. Horcrux… what was a Horcrux? _"D'you think you could just—just hold it in until we've got the diadem?"_ A diadem? Why did they need a diadem? What did it all mean? Draco's brain churned, searching for an answer.

* * *

"It all seems so silly in hindsight," Fiona murmured to Astoria, picking at her shoelaces. "I mean, here we were, hoping that Potter would return to save us from the Carrows… and if he didn't show up, we were going to have our own riot."

"The Polyjuice potion?" Astoria asked and Daphne, Theo, and Summerby looked at Astoria in confusion.

"Finnigan was going to be Amycus and Padma Patil—the Ravenclaw—was going to be Alecto. They have been studying their mannerisms for weeks. They were going to take the potion and cause mad confusion until we could fight and overthrow them. It was going to be a glorious revolution," she laughed bitterly. "But Potter didn't know about the Carrows. He came to find something and they're having the battle now so that he has time to find it."

"Well, what is the point in that?" Astoria asked curiously.

"Whatever it is he's looking for," Fiona explained, "he needs it to stop You-Know-Who." Astoria nodded. "It just… it seemed so noble, so adult, this whole battle. And really, it's a mess."

"You must be worried about your sister," Summerby offered understandingly. Fiona paused for a moment and then nodded her head.

* * *

Weaselette passed by, eager to escape the room and Potter called after her to stay safe. _Fat chance_. The castle continued to shake as if there was an earthquake and that oaf Hagrid's giant was swinging a stone gargoyle torn from the roof. The beast was out of control and Draco thought that it could step on anyone, regardless of what side they were on. Draco didn't bother to listen to the small conversation around him and instead fixed his eyes on Potter, who switched his gaze from the bursts of red and green lights firing outside to Weaselette's red hair as she ran down the hallway. She tossed him a catch-me-if-you-can grin over her shoulder.

Potter paced the corridor three times, fervently thinking, and on the last try a door finally appeared. Potter opened it and Granger and Weasley followed him inside.

"Now!" Draco hissed to Crabbe and Goyle and they slid inside the doorway right before the door closed with a thud. Behind them, the sounds of the battle disappeared and all was silent as the years of lost things stood in front of them. But more importantly, there was Potter, just a breath away and Draco slowly smirked, thinking that just for once, things would work out for him.

* * *

Blaise Zabini popped his head up as if he had just awaked from a terrible nightmare. He shakily stood up, shoving away Parkinson's needy caresses. Zabini locked eyes with Astoria and she knew he wanted to talk to her. She stood up and slipped away from Daphne, Summerby, and Fiona.

"Where is Draco?" he whispered once she was near.

"In the castle with Crabbe and Goyle. They slipped out while you were upstairs. I have not seen them since," Astoria responded.

"Do you know what they're doing?" Zabini asked.

"Looking for Potter," Astoria muttered.

"Are you fucking kidding…?" Zabini's voice trailed off angrily. "I thought he would… I thought after everything he would just _run_, you know? Draco's not exactly a fighter."

"I was surprised myself, but he appeared rather determined," Astoria shrugged.

"Well, where's Potter?"

"Somewhere in the castle," she dryly offered.

"But you think you know where he is," Theo said, sneaking up behind them. Astoria was surprised for a moment before she found her tongue.

"You remember the room we left from? Dumbledore's Army has been hiding in there for weeks. And in sixth year, I was walking down the seventh floor corridor and I saw Malfoy there, but when I turned to look again, he was gone. I think he knows about that room and I think he is going to search there first," Astoria hastily explained.

"That… that is a really smart observation," Theo nodded his head.

"So what now?" Zabini asked anxiously.

"What now?" Astoria sneered. "We wait until the battle is over and hope that Malfoy does not fuck himself and the rest of us over in the meanwhile," she snapped back at him.

"Someone needs to reason with him. It's not too late to just yank him the hell out of there…"

"Zabini…" Theo said in a warning tone.

"Fuck you, Nott," Zabini sneered. "Don't try to go all fucking pedantic on me and tell me that it can't be done, that it's too late, because it can be done and it's never too late… I hope," he sighed and Astoria suddenly had a feeling that Zabini was talking about more than one thing. "It has to be me. I'm the only one who can get in."

"What?" Astoria breathed.

"I can just walk right in there with my Mark, grab Draco, talk some sense in him, and get him to leave. Draco's time is over."

"What do you mean?"

"He already messed up. He couldn't kill Dumbledore and the only thing he can do to reverse that mistake is to find Potter. But he's not going to and everyone knows it. He may be desperate, but he's not a fighter."

"And what about you?" Astoria pursued, astonished how quickly everything was unraveling.

"I've done my part. The Dark Lord recruited me for my charm, to sleaze my way around Hogwarts and find any information I could. Weaselette is impervious, Looney is fucking weird, but Abbott was useful."

"Abbott? Why Abbott?"

"Because Longbottom's in love with her," Zabini rolled his eyes and Astoria thought back to just hours ago when Hannah Abbott said that she was pregnant. And Longbottom didn't even know… "Well, I found out two things from her: she's pregnant and Dumbledore's Army is up to some big 'revolution.' That information is enough."

"And You-Know-Who does not expect you to fight?"

"I'm no fighter and He knows that. He said to do what I'm good at and then get out of the way when charm won't keep me alive," Zabini spat.

"So why do you have to go get Malfoy? Why cannot you just leave him to his own devices?" Astoria asked, not sure where this was all leading.

"If Draco doesn't find Potter, no one will care. But if he does find Potter and he gets away, there will be hell to pay. Or if he gets in the way of the Dark Lord while He's looking for Potter, Draco is also doomed. Draco's best bet is to stay out of the way," Zabini explained.

"So why does it matter to _you_?" Astoria asked again.

"Because it's time to take a side, Greengrass," Zabini snapped at her. "And I'm going to take the side that will do me the least harm and I'm taking my allies with me."

"And what side is that, Zabini?" Astoria interrogated him. Zabini then smiled his usual, charming smile that made most girls weak in the knees.

"I'll make it up as I go," he grinned. "Merlin, I haven't made my own decisions in a long while. It feels quite good," he said, taking his wand out of his robe pocket and heading toward the stairs that lead down to the bar.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, Snake?" a Gryffindor stopped Zabini at the doorway. All went quiet as they looked at the scene and Astoria held her breath, unsure how Zabini would react.

"Where you can't go," Zabini smoothly replied. "Out there, to get one of your own." Everyone looked at Zabini in confusion. "You mean that I'm the only person who saw little Colin Creevey sneak out of here a few minutes ago?" he asked innocently. But Zabini was quite right—Creevey was nowhere in the room. "He's too young to be out there. I'm going to bring him back before he gets himself killed." The Hufflepuffs were already quite moved and the Gryffindors began to panic. However, the Ravenclaws caught that something was amiss.

"Why can you go out there and no one else can?" one asked.

"Because I'm seventeen and I have this," he rolled up his left sleeve and Astoria covered her eyes, knowing that Zabini couldn't keep his mouth shut. "You all in Dumbledore's Army say you want a revolution, so here's my little contribution. You want to overthrow the Carrows, but something's got to give. I'll give you a little clue: most of us hate them. So, I'm going to go get Creevey because no one will question where I am going, and I'm going to bring him back," Zabini smoothly lied.

"You are doing no such thing, Blaise Zabini!" Pansy Parkinson shrieked.

"Shut your mouth, Parkinson, and sit down before I shove your pathetic, bony ass out that itty bitty window up there!" Daphne Greengrass stood up and shouted at her fellow Slytherin. There were quite a number of whistles and cat-calls at Daphne's explosion and Blaise Zabini remained frozen at the top of the stairs, his eyes fixed on the blonde. Daphne turned her gaze toward Zabini and began to walk toward him, the crowd making a path to the Death Eater. Daphne strode right up to Zabini and looked at him for a quiet moment. Everyone held their breath as Daphne slowly smiled, a tear leaking from her eye. Zabini reached out and brushed it away with a feather-light touch. She placed a white hand on his dark cheek, rose to her tiptoes, and graced his cheek with a kiss before whispering in his ear, "Go." Her hand fell to her side and Zabini took a slow step back before heading down the stairs. Daphne crossed her arms around herself and went back over to the Slytherins, where she sat in silence. Theo, however, had something to say.

"You know, he just may come back with Creevey in tow," he whispered musingly to Astoria who scowled and sat down next to her sister, thinking that she would probably need comfort.

* * *

Draco's heart hammered as he stood next to Crabbe and Goyle, just a few meters away from Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

_"And he never realized anyone could get in?"_ Weasley asked, presumably talking about the Dark Lord.

_ "He thought he was the only one,"_ said Potter. _"Too bad for him I've had to hide stuff in my time… this way," _he pointed to the left. _"I think it's down here."_

They walked past the Vanishing Cabinet and Draco allowed himself to reflect for a moment. As they continued by it, Draco ran his fingers across the dark wood, remembering his desperation when he thought he was failing. He remembered crying in the bathroom to Moaning Myrtle and Potter coming in. He remembered his blood pooling on the ground, Snape fixing him up, and the potions master's watchful eye on him after that day. He remembered his elation when the cabinet finally worked, his horror as he saw Fenrir Greyback step into the Room of Hidden Things, and then being up on the Astronomy Tower. He remembered disarming Dumbledore. He remembered the old coot telling him that he could offer him protection if he switched sides. He remembered Dumbledore mentioning that he knew a boy who made all the wrong choices and Draco wondered in hindsight who the old wizard was talking about. He remembered his cowardice as he pointed a wand at the headmaster and he remembered his fear as he failed and ran. He snapped out of his reverie when he heard Granger speak.

_"Accio Diadem!"_ she cried out, but the room offered nothing. Draco held his breath.

_"Let's split up,"_ Potter said and in that moment, Draco knew that Potter was his.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson had gone down to the bathroom ten minutes ago and not returned. Everyone knew she had gone to make sure that her boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, was safe. By then, everyone figured out that he had stayed behind with Crabbe and Goyle. The number of seventh year Slytherins was slowly dwindling, with just Theo, Daphne, and Millicent Bullstrode evacuating.

Summerby, Daphne, and Fiona lined a wall in the second floor of the Hog's Head as Astoria clung with Theo, pacing about the room. Outside the window, they could hear the occasional bang or scream from the castle. Astoria chewed nervously on her lip, a habit her mother absolutely abhorred, and continued to walk next to Theo, who seemed to want to say something. At last, he spoke.

"McGonagall said that the time has come to run or riot," he began.

"Slughorn told me to run," Astoria supplied. "When you were upstairs herding everyone down, he told me to take my sister and run as far away from Malfoy and the likes of him as possible. And Malfoy also said to run, that it was the time to stop asking questions, grab my sister and my wand and run because there was no one to protect me." Theo looked at her and nodded his head once in encouragement. "But I am so… I am so tired of running… I cannot… Theo, I cannot…" her voice trailed off as she felt a lump rise into her throat and Theo nodded his head once again.

"I know, Astoria," he whispered lowly. "Believe me, I _know_." Astoria bit her lip again and blinked back tears, feeling rather conflicted. Theo gave her another hard look before he sighed. He really wasn't much of a talker, but Astoria knew that he felt necessitated to say something. "If you want to riot—"

"Theo!" Astoria admonished him. He opened his mouth and then shut it, decidedly not saying another word on the subject. "Are you… are you serious?" Astoria stammered. Theo gave her a look that clearly said that he would not say it if he was not serious. "But that is… you have got to be mad! Your father is one of the most notorious Death Eaters. My parents are blood traitors. My sister will be sitting here, wondering where the hell I am—"

"And I cannot live like this any longer," Theo cut her off. "I am not my father and I will not live in fear of him or his master." Astoria stared at Theo in shock.

"When… when did you know?" she breathed.

"This is really not the time, Astoria. I just want to know if you want to riot," Theo rolled his eyes. Astoria resisted the urge to punch him.

"If I fight and You-Know-Who wins, I am fucked. I am fucked, my sister is fucked—we will be as good as dead. If for some miraculous stroke of luck Potter wins, we will still always be Slytherins. And if I stay here and do not fight, I will just be—"

"No one, Astoria. You will be no one," Theo finished her sentence and Astoria gulped. "If we fight, we will cut all ties. We will not be Slytherins. We will not be purebloods, Greengrasses, or Notts. We will just be two students desperate to shake off our shackles, regardless of the consequences."

"My _sister_, Theo!" Astoria hissed.

"If you do not want to fight, then stay here, Astoria. I figured that you were probably tired of people telling you what to do and if you wanted to make your own decisions and riot, you should know that I will have your back and protect you."

"I do not need protecting," Astoria instinctively snapped.

"But you do, Astoria, you do," he sighed. "It is why Summerby is sitting with us. It is why Finnigan kept looking at you in the Great Hall tonight. It is why Malfoy got you out of the dungeons months ago. And it is why I have been here, all year, keeping the Macnairs of the world away from you," Theo listed solemnly. "There is a reason why you have not fallen yet and it is because so many people have protected you in countless little ways. So yes, Astoria, you actually do need protecting." Astoria looked at Theo earnestly, knowing that he was right. He was Theodore Nott—he was always right and she really wanted him to be wrong.

"But you said it was not about sides!" Astoria nearly shouted at him. He looked at her, completely unfazed.

"It is only about sides if your goal is survival."

"Theo…"

"Astoria, I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of making one mistake that will lead me to regret my entire life," Theo lectured impatiently. Astoria looked at him for a moment and then spoke.

"Alright," she said and next thing she knew, she was hugging her sister and telling her that she was going to the loo downstairs. She and Theo slipped out through the bathroom window, held hands, cast a Disillusionment Charm over their heads, and began to run to the riot.

Fifteen minutes later when Theo and Astoria never returned, Daphne went down to the loo and saw Astoria's green Slytherin tie and robes on the floor. She looked out the open window, heard the screams from outside, and sank down to the floor, knowing that all she could do was wish and wait.

* * *

_"Let's split up,"_ Potter suggested to Granger and Weasley. Potter was his—Draco knew it. _"Look for a stone bust of an old man wearing a wig and a tiara! It's standing on a cupboard and it's definitely somewhere near here…"_ Granger and Weasley peeled off and Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle paced behind Potter, who muttered to himself. _"Somewhere near here. Somewhere… somewhere…"_ Potter continued to walk and then his eyes shot up. His hand stretched up and…

_"Hold it, Potter."_


	16. Chapter 13: The Reality of Mortality

_Author's Note: I'm so sorry this took so long to update. Things were really crazy right around the time I was about to leave for Barcelona and when I got to my hostel last week, my laptop did not have internet so I could not update. Now I'm at the college dorms and the internet is better, so things have finally settled down enough for me to update. I love it here in Spain, where I am studying abroad for the year, and I will continue to write this fanfiction. Hopefully this will prevent my English becoming shit in the next year. I couldn't bring my copy of HP7 so I scanned the last chapters and saved the files on my computer. I know, I'm a really cool person._

_Most of the things in italic are directly from the canon. I apologize for typos and the fact that this chapter is probably on the shorter side. I have mixed feelings about this chapter because it feels rushed, but no one really has an internal monologue in the middle of a battle. Let me know what you think._

_Fellow reader HypRRNeRd drew Astoria on deviantart! Her deviantart name is YaNahmaRii, so check it out._

_Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed. I can't believe this story has almost 250 reviews! Last chapter alone had 32 reviewers, so I'm completely blown away. The next chapter is in the editing stage, so hopefully I'll be able to update later this week. Lots of love from lovely Barcelona!_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 13: The Reality of Mortality_

It would take many sleepless nights the summer following the battle to piece together what passed that night in May. Sometimes, when she would wake up screaming from nightmares, Daphne would hold Astoria and ask her _why, _why did she go? Astoria would only be able to offer her the answer that it made perfect sense at the time, that it seemed like the only reasonable choice, and that it was her way out of living an inconsequential life.

"But it hurt you," Daphne would reply and Astoria could only say that sometimes the things that hurt them the most were the things that they remembered most, the things that made them most remarkable.

She had cut all ties, including the green one around her neck. When Astoria said goodbye to Daphne that night in May, Daphne did not know that it was a goodbye. Astoria, on the other hand, vaguely realized that she was walking to her own death, willingly and freely, and that she could not leave without holding her sister one last time. Perhaps it was a dramatic thought, but considering the screaming she heard outside, it seemed worthwhile.

Astoria was never a touchy-feely person. As a baby, she tended to scream louder whenever her mother tried to rock her to sleep. As a child, she enjoyed sitting on her father's lap, but that was about as far as it got. As a teenager, she found physical contact awkward and unnecessary, so she was not the type to hug friends in the hallways. That is, if she had friends. Daphne was the only constant exception to Astoria's resistance toward hugging. She understood that Daphne took comfort in the physical contact and Astoria found that it sometimes alleviated stress and therefore could be considered slightly beneficial.

Daphne stood in the corner of the Hog's Head and Astoria wrapped her arms around her. The blonde leaned into the brunette and asked her when she got to be so tall. Astoria responded that she hardly considered herself tall and therefore did not know when this nonexistent act occurred. Daphne sighed at her sister's response. There were a thousand things on Astoria's mind right then and she hardly knew how to tell her sister. She stammered, trying to tell her what she had done, that she stole ingredients for Dumbledore's Army to brew a Polyjuice Potion, that she hid the Davis sisters, that she was the Master of Memory, that Malfoy taught her Occlumency, that she had failed her last two years of classes, that Parkinson threatened her to help Malfoy with his supplementary lessons, that the whole reason why this all happened was because of Blaise Fucking Zabini (or in Daphne's case, fucking Blaise Zabini), but she could not do it. Instead, she said, "I love you."

"I love you too," Daphne easily replied.

"I am going to the loo downstairs."

"Do you feel unwell?"

"A little."

"I'll come with you…"

"No. Theo will make sure I am alright."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite positive."

"Because I can come with you…"

"Daphne, you should stay right here."

"You'll be back soon?" Daphne asked as Astoria turned around to leave. 'Soon' was such a relative term, but Astoria had a hard time saying that white lie to her sister, so instead she said:

"I will be back. I promise."

Astoria and Theo had to snarl at a few Gryffindors to be allowed downstairs, but some Ravenclaw told them to leave the two alone and let them take a piss. Now, they were invisible, running through a deserted Hogsmeade and it felt like their every step was as loud as a drumbeat. The entire town was empty, all dark windows and crumpled newspapers rustling across the cobblestones. Astoria gripped Theo's hand so they would not get separated. His palm was sweaty, but she was sure hers was as well. As they neared the school grounds, it grew colder and colder while the screams grew louder and louder.

"Look up," Theo whispered and Astoria saw dementors glide through the air on the outskirts of the grounds, as if waiting for their cue to enter the battle. "Do you know how to cast a Patronus?"

"Barely," Astoria replied. "It is not yet corporeal." She had always had trouble with the Patronus charm. Then again, most Slytherins and Ravenclaws had difficulty with the spell, since it derived from emotion rather than good wandwork or reason. Astoria was no different. She had numerous happy memories and feelings, but she was always too skeptical of the spell. Could magical happiness really scare away such Dark creatures?

"Be prepared," Theo whispered. "It will blow our invisibility, but I would rather not have my soul sucked out of me." From anyone else, the sentence would have been delivered as a joke, but Theo said it quite casually, as if remarking that the night sky was rather dark. In the distance, Astoria could see a number of tall figures.

"Giants," she murmured.

"That is probably only the beginning of our problems," Theo sighed, pulling on her hand to keep moving. "We will try to stay undetected until we get into the castle. We will be better protected in there." They crept toward the castle, invisible and silent. Sometimes, small packs of Death Eaters would zoom by them, but in the dark night when tension was high, no one seemed to notice the blurry images that hinted at a Disillusionment Charm. They stayed at the margins, not wanting to dive into the battle until they were close to the entrance of the castle. Astoria and Theo hid behind a low stone wall and were about to break for the castle when they heard someone kneel down beside them.

It was Colin Creevey, with blood and dirt all over his face, waiting with eyes alit with excitement and determination. Astoria and Theo froze, not wanting to give themselves away. After waiting a minute, Theo tugged Astoria's hand to encourage her to move over, but as he stepped, the leaves and twigs under his feet crunched and cracked. Suddenly, Creevey's wand was inches from her face.

"Who's there?" he whispered fiercely. When there was no reply, he cast the reverse spell, revealing Astoria and Theo. As soon as the spell left his wand, Astoria tore it from his hands. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth about to yell, but Astoria quickly cast a Silencing Charm on him. That did not stop Creevey from talking, whose mouth continued to move.

"If you whisper and stop throwing a tantrum, I will give you your wand back and remove the Silencing Charm. Do we have a deal?" she asked calmly. Creevey looked skeptical but nodded his head. Astoria reversed the spell and placed Creevey's wand in his hand.

"You look familiar. You're Nott, aren't you?" the Gryffindor asked and Theo nodded his head. "Your father is a Death Eater." Theo nodded again and rolled up his left sleeve. "But you're not?" Theo smirked the slightest. "And you," he said, turning to Astoria. "You're…"

"Greengrass," she replied.

"Slytherin?" he guessed.

"Fifth year," she supplied.

"My brother's a fourth year… Dennis. He's in Gryffindor," Creevey mused out loud before his face turned sad and grave. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you. And yet, here we all are," Astoria gestured around her. A shrill scream pierced the air and they all shuddered. "You are bleeding."

"It's nothing," he shrugged. "I'm just trying to get to the castle."

"As are we," Theo coolly replied.

"Wait, I'm really confused now," Creevey furrowed his brows. "Whose side are you on anyway?" Astoria and Theo looked at each other before Astoria carefully responded.

"We are against the Carrows."

"Then you're with me!" Creevey said gleefully. "Wait, really?" he asked, once again skeptical.

"We have our reasons," Theo said enigmatically.

"And what are they?" Creevey challenged. Astoria wanted to roll her eyes at his blaring Gryffindor attitude.

"Tired of being puppets in a reign of terror," Theo shrugged. Creevey seemed to think about it for a moment before he grinned.

"Good enough for me! So, do you have a plan?"

"How about getting to the castle without dying?" Astoria snorted.

"Ace! That was my plan as well," he jocularly cheered. "Harry taught me a few good spells…"

"So why are you covered in blood?" Astoria asked dryly.

"A little run-in with the Snatchers," Creevey replied. "They weren't too happy to see I had turned up at the battle. I must admit, I wasn't too happy they had showed up either…"

"So why are you hiding?" Astoria asked, wondering what it was about Gryffindors that made them unable to get to the point about anything without cracking a joke or making some bloody noble speech.

"I'm waiting for the opportune moment to make a dash for the castle while taking out as many Death Eaters as possible… and not getting killed in the process," he declared.

"Did anyone see you hide?" Theo asked. Creevey opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped to think about it for a moment. A low chuckle on the other side of the wall answered his question and Theo immediately cast a large Shielding Charm over the three of them. The Stunning Spell bounced off it and the three students bounded back, wands out.

_"Stupefy!"_ they all cried at the same. Three jets of red light hit the Snatcher in the chest, who fell with a thud to the ground.

"Well, that went well, I think," Creevey grinned, nodding his head victoriously.

"Don't hold your breath," Theo muttered, seeing another Snatcher turn his head to witness his comrade's fall. "Head for the castle," Theo barked and Astoria and Creevey bolted. Astoria threw up a Shielding Charm to block the Stunning Spell blasted their way and tossed a Body-Bind over her shoulder, not sure if it hit its target.

Now, they were in the fray. Outside the main entrance to the castle, wizards and witches battled each other. Astoria could see green spells fly through the air, but she did not see who they hit. Astoria and Theo ducked their heads and cast Shielding Charms, hoping to just get to the castle without being confronted by anymore Snatchers or Death Eaters. They weren't far from the entrance when Astoria realized that Creevey wasn't behind her. When she turned around, he was battling a masked Death Eater. They shot spells at each other until a purple spell exploded from the Death Eater's wand and hit Creevey square in the chest. Astoria stumbled from the shock and dashed toward Creevey, who fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Astoria lay down next to him, hoping that Death Eaters would mistake her for another dead body and no spells would be thrown her way. Creevey's eyes were open and he turned his head to Astoria.

"I can't feel my legs," he said shakily. "Nor my hands. I can't feel them, I can't move them." Astoria could see the panic build in his eyes and she searched for the words to calm him. She thought about what Daphne would say—she was good at these sorts of things.

"It is alright, it is going to be just fine," Astoria offered a shaky smile. "We are going to get you to the castle and Madam Pomfrey will cast the reverse spell and everything is going to be fine," she assuaged him. "You just need to stay calm."

"I can't feel my arms at all. I can't feel my torso… Greengrass…"

"Astoria," she said, looking him directly into his wide brown eyes.

"Astoria_, help me_," he began to cry. Astoria bit her lip. She could not see Theo anywhere. He had probably cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself to buy a bit of time.

"I am so sorry, Colin," Astoria whispered. "I cannot help you." The boy released a sob. "You were hit with a spell that slowly paralyzes your entire body. In about thirty seconds, you will not be able to speak and a few more seconds after that, you will not be able to breathe." There was no delicate way to put it and her words hung in the air for a moment. He stared at her with the hollow eyes of a dying man.

"Tell Dennis," he said between sobs. "Tell Dennis that fairy tales are more than true. He'll know what I mean. Tell him that I love him and—" Suddenly, Colin's words began to slur and then his mouth stopped moving. Astoria watched him, feeling tears roll down her cheeks as his eyes stared at her in horror but with a whisper of youthful bravery until all the muscles in his face suddenly relaxed. Astoria grabbed his wrist to feel for a pulse—still beating. She watched his chest rise and fall, struggling each time.

Astoria knew that with this sort of spell, the victim died once their heart muscles were paralyzed or the muscles that helped pull the diaphragm to allow breathing gave out. If the heart failed first, it would be a quick death. If the heart lasted longer and the breathing muscles were paralyzed first, the victim would asphyxiate. Colin Creevey died a slow death, his chest rising and falling a little less every time. Then, his chest stopped rising all together and Astoria muffled a sob, still feeling his pulse. The beats grew slower and slower until she put her head against his chest, right over his heart, and heard a deep, unbearable silence.

Colin Creevey—brother, son, soldier, Gryffindor—was unbearably tiny in death.

It hit Astoria like a punch in the stomach and she began to sob, the battle still raging around her. Yet, she lay there with her head on his chest, ready to pray to anyone that would listen to give the boy a heartbeat so he could go back to his brother and his family, brag about his battle scars, and tell Dennis exactly how fairy tales were more than true—but he couldn't because he was dead.

"Astoria! Astoria!" she heard Theo yell. She felt him grip her shoulders to haul her up. Her legs gave out and she collapsed next to Colin's body. "Leave him, we've got to go!"

"I cannot—!" Astoria choked on the words.

"There is nothing more you can do for him. We have to go," he pulled her to her feet before shooting a Stunning Spell at someone. He yanked her hand to encourage her to run, but Astoria felt something loop around her torso and lift her in the air. She halted her scream when she realized what passed: one of the giant suits of armor that had been animated to protect Hogwarts had picked Astoria up and began to march toward the castle. She saw another suit of armor pick up Theo. Spells bounced off the metal, creating dents in their path, but the suit of armor used its shield to protect any spells from hitting Astoria. She screamed for Colin, not caring that he could not hear her, and hoped that his tiny frame would remain intact so his family could take him home to bury him—his poor, Muggle family with their oldest son dead at sixteen, less than a year older than Astoria.

The castle grew closer and there was fighting everywhere, but Astoria could not focus on the battle around her. Screams and mad cackles filled the air; the smell of blood, dirt, and singed flesh wafted into her nose; she saw the bursts of light fly from the ends of wands and bodies fall one by one… but most of all, Astoria saw Colin Creevey's brown eyes as he said his final words to his little brother. This, she realized, was the reality of mortality. And so, she cried for Colin Creevey and his short, but brave life.

* * *

The Boy-Who-Would-Not-Bloody-Die was beginning to reach his hand out toward something when Draco spoke in the Room of Hidden Things.

_"Hold it, Potter," _Draco felt a victorious smirk spread on his face with Crabbe and Goyle standing behind him. At last, this was the moment Draco had been waiting for. He wanted revenge on Potter for escaping right under his nose, for taking what was his, and for causing his family so much pain. Draco twitched at the memory of Easter holidays. _"That's my wand you're holding, Potter,"_ he pointed, practically spitting the Gryffindor's name.

_"Not anymore," _Potter jeered back at him. _"Winner, keepers, Malfoy. Who's lent you theirs?" _Draco wanted to proudly respond that he got it himself from Ollivander's shop—"Oh you know, the wandmaker who lived in my cellar before you helped him escape?" he wanted to add. But he had not told anyone that he got his wand from Ollivander's shop. In fact, he was not even that proud of it—he had chosen his wand and it didn't respond to him as well as his hawthorn wand. So, he lied instead, thinking of how his mother offered her wand.

_"My mother,"_ he responded smoothly and Potter laughed, which made him angry. How dare he laugh at his mother, his brave mother who was far superior to Harry Potter, to all Potters and his Mudblood mother?

_"So how come you three aren't with Voldemort?" _Potter asked and before Draco could speak, Crabbe responded.

_"We're gonna be rewarded,"_ he began in his soft voice. He had a smile on his face as though Draco had just offered him his Nimbus 2001. _"We 'ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to 'im."_

_"Good plan,"_ Potter mocked them as he slowly backed up. _"So how did you get in here?"_ Draco wanted to laugh—oh, how Potter underestimated him!

_"I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year. I know how to get in," _Draco sharply responded. Stupid Potter, thinking he was the only one who knew the castle's secrets…

_"We was hiding in the corridor outside," _said Goyle and Malfoy thought he sounded even more stupid than normal. _"We can do Diss-lusion Charms now!" _he cried. _"And then you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What's a die-dum?" _he asked, suddenly confused by his own story. Had Draco not been in the process of catching his arch-nemesis, he would have probably released a deep sigh. Instead, he heard Weaselby's voice in the distance.

_"Harry? Are you talking to someone?"_ they heard and panicking, Crabbe pointed his wand at a mountain of junk and shouted, _"Descendo!"_ It began to topple into the aisle over from them, where it sounded like Weaselby stood.

_"Ron!" _Potter shouted and Draco could hear Granger scream. For a moment, he got lost in the memory of being back at the Manor with his dear Auntie Bellatrix Cruciating Granger over and over again…

_"No!" _Draco shouted, snapping back to reality and shoving Crabbe's wand hand away. _"If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!" _If he could not get Potter, he needed to get his hand on that diadem and bring it to the Dark Lord. Perhaps that would bring sufficient redemption, but Crabbe didn't understand.

_"What's that matter?" _Crabbe shoved his hand off him. _"It's Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?"_

_ "Potter came in here to get it," _Draco began, not even bothering to mask his impatience, _"so that must mean—"_

_ " 'Must mean'?" _Crabbe suddenly turned on Draco with a mocking tone. Draco was taken aback at being addressed this way and looked at Crabbe in horror and disgust. _"Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders no more, _Draco," he sneered his name. _"You an' your dad are finished." _Draco bristled at Crabbe's impertinence. He was so close to slamming a Stunning Spell right into Crabbe's thick head when Weaselby shouted again.

_"Harry? What's going on?"_

_ "Harry?"_ Crabbed mimicked Weaselby's voice. _"What's going—no, Potter! Crucio!" _Potter had lunged for some item and when Crabbe saw this, he shot the first spell that came to his mind. Considering how many 'supplementary lessons' he had with the Carrows, the Cruciatus was his bread and butter.

"_STOP!" _Malfoy shouted, his voice echoing in the large room. No, he did not come this far to have Vincent Fucking Crabbe thwart his plan. _"The Dark Lord wants him alive—"_

_ "So? I'm not killing him, am I?" _Crabbe shrugged him aside again. _"But if I can, I will, the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what's the diff—?" _Draco saw Mudblood Granger shoot a Stunning Spell and reacted by shoving Crabbe out of the way. It only missed Crabbe's head by a small margin. Suddenly, Crabbe whirled around, his face set in determination. It was then that Draco truly realized that Crabbe had an agenda of his own and that he was going to ruin everything for Draco.

_"It's that Mudblood!" _Crabbe shouted. _"Avada Kedavra!" _Draco's eyes went wide at the use of the most unforgivable Unforgivable. The spell missed and Potter shot a Stunning Spell. The buffoon, as he dodged the spell, knocked into Draco's arm, causing him to release his wand. The walnut wand rolled under a pile of broken furniture and boxes. No, this could not be happening, Draco thought to himself, not again. But the wand was out of sight and he fell to the ground to find it. But then, Crabbe and Goyle both had their wands pointed at Potter and there was still a chance, Draco could get Potter if the two buffoons didn't ruin all his chances.

_"Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!"_ he yelled again. But then, Goyle's wand flew out of his hand, courtesy of Potter's Disarming Charm. Goyle scurried to retrieve his wand without success and Draco dodged Granger's Stunning Spell. Weaselby shot a full Body-Bind Curse at Crabbe, but the spell missed its target. Crabbe, in retaliation, screamed, _"Avada Kedavra!" _The green light missed Weaselby. Meanwhile, Draco hid behind a three-legged wardrobe and saw Granger hit Goyle with a Stunning Spell.

_"It's here somewhere!" _Potter yelled at Granger. _"Look for it while I go and help R—"_

_ "HARRY!" _Granger screamed.

As soon as Draco knew that roaring noise behind him, Malfoy grabbed the unconscious Goyle and began to drag him. They were all too young to die, and to die by Fiendfyre, no less. The Carrows had taught the Dark spell that produced a vicious, potent, and always fatal fire a few weeks back. It had been difficult to control, so they practiced on dummies of Undesirable No. 1, Potter himself. The Gryffindors naturally declined the lesson and received detentions.

_"Like it hot, scum?"_ Crabbe snorted as he ran and Draco hoped he knew what he was doing. It quickly appeared that Crabbe had no control over the spell and Draco began to calculate just how flammable the room was as he tried to pull Goyle along. Old wooden furniture, old books, old boxes—everything was brittle and dry, the room was airy… they were fucked. Stacks of junk crumbled to ash in seconds and Potter's _Aguamenti _did absolutely nothing to help.

_"RUN!" _Crabbe bolted past them all and Potter, Granger, and Weaselby followed. Draco pulled Goyle down a different aisle than the Fiendfyre and bellowed for Crabbe. He at last picked up some momentum dragging Goyle's body and was almost able to jog. A few aisles over, he could see the fiery serpents, chimaeras, and dragons dancing over the peaks of the mountains of junk, devouring everything in their path. Draco screamed for Crabbe again and he suddenly appeared.

"Make it stop!" Draco shouted at him.

"I don't know how! It's not working!" Crabbe bellowed back at him.

"We have to find the exit! Come on, help me," he began to hoist Goyle's body up a stack of furniture.

"_Renervate,"_ Crabbe pointed his wand at Goyle, who blearily opened his eyes. I'm gonna try and stop it," Crabbe said shakily. "I'm gonna try," he repeated before bolting off. The room grew hot and the air was heavy with smoke as Draco mustered all the strength he had to help Goyle up a stack of furniture. There was so much smoke in the air that Draco could not see a thing.

It was at that moment when Draco realized he was going to die. He was going to die a failure to his cause, a failure to his father, a failure to his mother. He was going to die with the disgust and derision of Greengrass and his tarnished reputation haunting him. He was going to die having done nothing right, nothing good, nothing glorious. He was going to die and only his mother and father would care. Draco screamed because no one could hear him and pulled on Goyle, begging him to stay awake.

"Come on, Goyle… fuck! Open your eyes and move one bloody step!" he shouted but Goyle had already sunk back into unconsciousness. Draco used the last of his strength to haul Goyle a little further up the mountain of knick-knacks. Crabbe was nowhere to be seen. No one was anywhere to be seen. There was hardly _anything_ to see, only flames and smoke and… Potter on a _broom?_ Draco blinked and looked again—it _was_ Potter. The heat continued to rise in the room and Draco could feel his cloths begin to singe from the hot, floating ashes. Tongues of fire licked his feet and he could feel his skin burning on his legs and arms. He didn't want to die this way and so grabbed Goyle with one arm and raised the other. Potter dove and grabbed his hand, but he was sweaty and Goyle was too heavy and so he slipped. Draco thought it was over, that Potter would not go back for them until he heard Weaselby cry:

_"IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!"_ It was a rather ironic statement, but Draco didn't care because Weaselby and Granger hauled Goyle onto their broom. At that moment, Weasley was his king, but this thought was soon forgotten in the smoke and flames. He grabbed Potter's hand and vaulted himself on the broom.

_"The door, get to the door, the door!" _he screamed in Potter's ear and pointed to the exit. They had nearly shook hands with Death and now they were so close to the exit. Draco wanted to laugh until Potter made a hairpin swerve and dived.

_"What are you doing, what are you doing, the door's that way!" _Draco screamed once again as they headed toward a giant, flaming serpent with its jaws stretched open and hungry for anything in its path… but suddenly Potter caught something around his wrist—was this the diadem?—swerved again and flew upward toward the door. Draco yelled and clutched onto Potter to avoid falling to his fiery doom, but suddenly there was clean air and… a stone wall.

Draco hit the wall and then the ground with a thud, gasping for clean air and coughing out smoke as his face rested against the cool stone. He had escaped. He looked over and saw Granger and Weaselby, with Goyle still unconscious next to them. Suddenly, Draco felt his stomach lurch.

_"C-Crabbe. C-Crabbe…"_

_ "He's dead," _Weaselby snapped. Goyle looked so alone without Crabbe's hulking figure next to him. Crabbe had died in the flames that he created himself. Draco wanted to laugh at his stupidity and cry all at the same time. Crabbe was burned alive, a horrible way to die. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. They were just supposed to ambush Potter and get him to the Dark Lord. But now Crabbe was dead, they didn't have wands, and there was no way he could stop Potter.

There were bangs and screams around the castle and ghosts on horseback galloped passed. Draco remained frozen, not hearing the trio of Gryffindors talk to each other. Draco wanted to cry when he saw the diadem—his last resort for redemption—ooze some sticky substance and then crack into a dozen pieces. Moments later, Death Eaters entered the castle and somehow, Draco found Blaise next to him.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked weakly, his voice shot from screaming and coughing.

"I'm here to get you out of here, of course," Blaise pulled him to his feet. "What happened? Oh forget it, I don't even want to know until we're far away from this place…" he muttered before saying, "_Rennervate,_" to revive Goyle. As Goyle's eyes opened and he began to cough, Blaise asked the question, "Where's Crabbe?" Draco merely shook his head. Goyle continued to cough and when he caught his breath, he turned to Draco.

"Where's Crabbe?" he also asked and Draco did not know how to tell him that his best mate was dead.

"He did not… the Fiendfyre…" Draco tried to say as Goyle's face crumbled. Even Blaise seemed to be at a loss for words for a long moment.

"Where are your wands?" Blaise asked and Draco shook his head again, fighting back tears. "Then we _really_ need to get out of here. Come on, this way," Blaise dragged him down the corridor, away from the dueling. There was a large bang behind them and a terrible scream of loss and pain, but they continued to run. Draco felt very vulnerable without his wand and stayed close to Blaise, who wove through corridors. His lungs hurt from all the smoke, but he followed until they ducked behind a stairwell.

"Where are my parents?" Draco demanded of Blaise. "Do you know where they are?"

"I have no… they are outside the castle, in Hogsmeade, I think. We need to get out of here, _now,_" Blaise said, his voice changing tones. Draco felt skeptical but there was no time to question or protest as they ran.

Little did he know, his father was in the Shrieking Shack, inquiring if Draco was alive to the Dark Lord and insisting that Draco would never befriend Potter. He did not know that his father would have done anything to stop the battle, just so he could find out if he was alive or not. Draco didn't know and so he ran, the thought of letting Potter and the diadem slip through his hands churning in his stomach and the loss of Crabbe weighing down his shoulders. This, he realized, was the reality of mortality.

* * *

The suit of armor blocked incoming curses from a group of Death Eaters before it at last collapsed to the ground. Astoria muffled a scream as the pieces of armor began to unhinge, causing her to tumble to the ground. She remained curled up underneath the large shield until the Death Eaters passed. She was about to emerge with wand drawn when she heard a large bang. Astoria ducked again under the shield, which was pelted by chunks of a stone wall that had been blasted away. Her ears rung from the rock hitting metal and she knew the impact of the shield jarring into her shoulder would bruise.

For a moment she panicked. She heard a scream that made her want to vomit, an aching sob or yell or shout of agony and loss, one that yanked her stomach up to her throat and made her head spin. She felt like she had been buried alive as she shoved against the shield and found that it would not budge. Darkness closed in around her and panic chilled her bones, but she pushed and shoved again and again and again until she heard a rock slide and tasted cool night air.

"_No—no—no! No! Fred! No!"_

With shaky legs, she rose and gasped at what she saw. Just a handful of meters away from her, the Weasleys gathered around a familiar red-head. _Fred's_ _eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face._

Astoria stumbled backward with tears prickling her eyes once again. Fred Weasley lay dead with his brothers and his friends all around him, and to those alive it seemed like the end of the world. Fred Weasley, although she didn't know him, had made her laugh and smile. There were few people who had that unique quality about them, a person able to touch so many lives simply by having an infectious sense of humor. But now, he was dead.

Theo was suddenly next to her and there was blood everywhere. His face was cut up and his shirt front was smeared with scarlet. Astoria opened her mouth to ask him what happened, but it seemed apparent enough—he had not been hidden behind a shield when the wall exploded. Indeed, there was a hole in the side of the castle wall and as spells shot through the gap, they ducked and ran away from the giant Acromantulas beginning to flood in from the grounds. The hairy legs of one crept in from outside and Astoria could see its eight eyes and its fangs, hungry for flesh. The clicking of its pincers was encouragement enough to run without looking back.

Feeling a spell flutter through her hair, she fell to the ground and cast a Shielding Charm. Her magical shield shuddered and she knew a spell had bounced off it. She then cast a Full-Body Binding Spell and was surprised when it precisely hit her mark. The witch fell to the ground with a satisfying thump, but when Astoria turned around to see if Theo had seen, she realized he was not there. Spying what she thought was a lanky young man slip out an exit onto the grounds, Astoria rose to her feet and ran after the wizard.

However, when she arrived on the grounds, Theo was nowhere to be seen. The battle raged outside, experienced wizards and witches engaging in fierce duels with each other while dodging Acromantulas and giants. She was about to turn and head back inside the castle when a spell zinged over her shoulder and she ducked down again. Close to the ground, she saw Ernie Macmillan crawl away from a Death Eater, his leg twisted at an odd angle and his face contorted in pain. Without thinking, Astoria shot a Trip Jinx at the Death Eater's feet. He fell backward and Macmillan had time to lung for his wand and then shoot a Stunning Spell, which Astoria matched. The two red lights hit the Death Eater almost simultaneously and Macmillan looked to see who had saved him. Astoria and Macmillan locked gazes for the briefest moments before Astoria heard a cackle that chilled her to the bone.

The infamous Bellatrix Lestrange twirled her wand, facing the pink-haired witch that Astoria had seen in the secret room on the seventh floor. A man she recognized as Antonin Dolohov flanked her with a terrible smile on his face. Behind the pink-haired woman with his hand laced in hers stood Remus Lupin, Astoria's old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"You shouldn't be here," Lupin said to the pink-haired woman.

"I _had_ to be here," she responded and Bellatrix Lestrange cooed.

"My dear niece, congratulations on your nuptials! What a fine _husband_ you have picked. I do pray that Greyback's little curse has passed onto your offspring," Bellatrix sneered and laughed. Dolohov joined in.

"You had better hope that he is safe because once we are done with you two, the little one is next on our list," he leered.

"I would think twice before threatening my family!" Lupin shouted before sending a green spell at Dolohov. The spell missed and Bellatrix shot a green spell at the pink-haired witch, who deftly dodged it. Astoria could hardly keep track of the spells that whistled back and forth between the two wizards and two witches. However, it was impossible to forget the green spell that hit the pink-haired witch in the stomach and the yell of horror that Lupin released before a similar spell shot him in the back. The two fell together, Lupin's arm draped protectively over the pink-haired witch's stomach. Her wedding band caught the light of a spell and sparkled for a moment. Astoria remained curled up in a ball hiding, her body shaking in fierce anger. She could hear Bellatrix's victorious cackle and Dolohov's deep, malicious laughter.

Lupin and the pink-haired witch had a family. They must have been so happy together… he must have loved her… they had a baby waiting at home. Years later, she would learn that the baby's name was Teddy Lupin and he did not carry Greyback's curse but his mother's Metamorphmagus abilities. Although she did not know it at the time, she did what she had to do for Teddy, because he, like Astoria, became an orphan in the blink of an eye. Without hesitation, Astoria shot a Conjunctivitis Curse at Dolohov.

"_Ruptispectis!_" Astoria shouted and the man keeled over, rubbing his eyes in pain. Bellatrix Lestrange quickly scanned to see where the spell came from, but Astoria shot a Blasting Curse at the ground in front of the Death Eater. "_Confringo!_" Bellatrix was blown off of her feet and Astoria knew that was her cue to run away as fast as possible. Once inside the castle, she nearly ran right into Theo.

"Thank Merlin! I was looking everywhere for you!" he shouted as Astoria simultaneously cried over him:

"Dolohov killed Lupin and Bellatrix killed his wife and they have a baby at home who doesn't even know—!" Theo must have seen the panic that crossed her face and pulled her to kneel down as spells shot around her head.

"We are going to get through this Astoria. I know it is scary, but stay close and we will get through this," his brown eyes met Astoria's green eyes. His face was still cut, bruised, and bloody, but he seemed so alive and emotive that Astoria just nodded her head. "Now, let's get out of here before Peeves hits us with a Snargaluff." Just then, Peeve's whirled passed and dropped one on a Death Eater, causing his head to sprout green tubers that wiggled like worms. Astoria released one barking laugh because she felt like that if she didn't laugh at the sight then the ghost of dead Fred Weasley would surely haunt her forever.

"I may have cursed Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange," she added once her laugh subsided.

"Oh fuck," Theo lowly murmured. "_Run_."

* * *

The fucking desks were fucking _alive._ What the fuck…? Draco bolted down the hallway, away from McGonagall who was screaming, _"CHARGE!"_ However, as he ran, he got separated from Blaise, which was extremely shitty considering he was the one with one with the wand. Where the fuck was Goyle? Merlin, Draco though he was going fucking mad because he could have sworn he heard Little Greengrass' mocking laughter down the hall. But she had evacuated the castle, so there was no way that she was there. Then again, Blaise had slipped back…

Draco dashed to the top of the marble staircase on the upper landing of the entrance hall when a green spell blasted past his head. He turned around to see a masked Death Eater leering at him and knowing the incantation for the spell that was on the wizard's tongue, Draco screamed and began to plead.

"I am Malfoy, my wand got misplaced, do not—" Draco began and the Death Eater continued to step toward him, hissing something about 'easy prey.' "_I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco, I'm on your side!"_ In the blink of an eye, the Death Eater fell, Stunned. Draco wanted to laugh for having scraped by but he was soon punched in the mouth by some invisible force. He fell backward on top of the Stunned Death Eater, tasting blood. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he heard Weaselby shout, _"And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!"_

Fuck him. Draco wanted to just lie on the floor and pray for the battle to end. It was not like he could do anything. No wand, no Potter, no diadem, no chance. The Dark Lord was going to be so angry… Draco remembered His anger during the Easter holidays and figured his subsequent failure would double his punishment. The Dark Lord would probably kill him right in front of his parents, execute him like those Muggle families.

"Why the fuck are you bleeding? Did you get punched?" Blaise stumbled up next to him with Goyle on his heels. Draco opened his mouth to retort but Blaise cut him off. "Like I said before, I don't fucking care to know until we are out of here. Come on!" Blaise shoved him down the corridor.

Draco saw Fenrir Greyback leaning over some student with blood covering his mouth. Draco's stomach lurched at the terrible sight and had he a wand, he would have shot a spell at the terrible beast. It was only then that Draco realized what Nott had said all those months ago about taking sides. "There are no sides and there are no Houses—it is just _us,_" Nott said. Even though Fenrir Greyback was technically on his side, he had always been sickened by the creature. He did not even pull any weight around; all he inspired was fear. Fortunately for Draco, he was extremely satisfied when Professor Trelawney did the first practical thing in her entire life and dropped a crystal ball on Greyback's head. However, moments later, a swarm of Acromantulas burst into the entrance hall and all the fighters scattered. Terrified of the giant spiders and feeling vulnerable without his wand, Draco realized that he needed to find his parents. Now.

However, he did not trust Blaise that they were in Hogsmeade. It didn't make sense and Draco felt that Blaise's delivery when he told him was a little off. It all smelled like a lie and there were only two people in the castle who could possibly know where his parents were: the Carrows. But where were they? Draco had not seen them at all. Climbing away from the Acromantula, his mind sped in his desperation to find a lead.

Either Snape or the Carrows had known where Potter was. Alecto Carrow had ended Little Greengrass' supplementary lesson early and there was no way she would have just left unless it was something important. The Dark Lord must have summoned her. But where to? Potter was after the diadem, so the Dark Lord must have wanted to keep it protected. But the diadem was in the Room of Hidden Things—it must not have been in its presumed location. But where else would a diadem come from? Why would Hogwarts contain such a thing anyway?

Suddenly, in a flash of brilliance, he remembered reading _Hogwarts, A History_ when he was younger and busy dreaming about being a Slytherin. He had nearly skipped the descriptions of the other Houses but he paused to laugh at Gryffindor (wannabe hero-types) and Hufflepuffs (pathetic unheroic-types), but thought that the Ravenclaws were probably not a terrible lot, even though they were far inferior to the Slytherins. Rowena Ravenclaw had a diadem that enhanced its wearer's wisdom… the Carrows must have been sent to the Ravenclaw Tower.

Draco turned around and began to run as Blaise shouted that he was going the wrong way. However, Blaise and Goyle still followed him as he wove through the castle, dodging hexes and curses. For a moment, fueled by his own mental victory, Draco felt invincible.

"Where the bloody hell are you going?" Blaise screamed at him.

"To find the Carrows so they can tell me where my parents _really_ are, you bloody liar!" Draco bellowed back at Blaise, who blanched.

"Where are they?" Blaise whined.

"Ravenclaw Tower."

"How did you… oh, never mind," Blaise snapped, shooting a Shielding Charm to protect them. Goyle followed wordlessly, appearing as though he was missing his other half. There were no words to describe the pain still painted on his face and as Draco sprinted up the winding stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower, he ordered himself to stay alive a little longer just to see his mother and father one last time. Perhaps, then, he could resign himself to death.

* * *

As Theo and Astoria ran down the corridor, preferably as far away from Dolohov and Bellatrix as possible, Astoria realized they were probably running the wrong way, considering another dozen Acromantulas had burst into the entrance hall. Screams filled the air and Potter hollered for Hagrid to come back. The Care of Magical Creatures professor had apparently gotten caught up in the herd of spiders and his large body had completely disappeared in the swarm of arachnids. Astoria did not have long to dwell on the loss of the professor who had so begrudgingly liked her because a giant smashed his fist through a window. Astoria ducked as the glass showered upon her head. She heard more smashing and roaring and when she looked out a broken window, she saw two giants—one rather small in comparison to its opponent—hurling themselves at each other.

When the building began to shake from the giants' battle, Astoria and Theo took off running. It seemed like all they did was run—run from foes, run toward safety, run for the sake of running. Astoria hardly had time to catch her breath or stop to feel her legs burn with all the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She was afraid of stopping, because stopping meant that everything would catch up to her: everything she had done, everything she had seen, everything that was to come, and worst of all, the consequences. But for a moment, everything did.

They were standing on the grounds and suddenly, Astoria felt a chill run down her spine. She froze in her tracks, thinking that this was it, that she would break down then and there and be unable to continue, but suddenly Theo froze as well. In fact, everyone seemed to freeze and suddenly, all eyes were on the skies: the dementors had arrived.

Astoria saw Weasley's silver terrier Patronus burst from his wand, flicker, and fade; Granger's otter soon had the same demise, but Luna Lovegood, Ernie Macmillan, and Seamus Finnigan came to their rescue. A hare, a boar, and a fox fluttered to help them. For a moment, Astoria mused that the wily fox perfectly suited Seamus Finnigan, who had surprised Astoria greatly in her limited acquaintance with him. However, when dementors threatened to catch the three from behind, Theo jabbed his wand in the air and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum!_" A beautiful, sleek, lone wolf sprung from his wand before he turned to her. "Astoria!" he cried out expectantly.

She gulped. She had only practiced her Patronus Charm a few times previously and all her attempts had been weak and not corporeal. She had reassured herself that she was still young, but Astoria had always been quite skeptical of the spell.

"Think of the estate in the summer!" Theo cried out to her, his own Patronus beginning to struggle. Astoria gathered her happy thoughts—her toes in the grass, the smell of her father's study, watching the sun fall on the western façade of the house, jumping a pony neatly over an obstacle, quiet mornings reading with her father, dancing around the room with Daphne, sitting on the swing on the hill over from the house, the innumerable stars in the denim blue night sky…

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

A creature, vaguely horse-ish, burst from her wand and joined Theo's. She laughed for the second time during the battle, seeing the dementors slide away from the light. The Dark creatures were gone and the night became warm again.

"Greengrass?"

For a split second, she met the gaze of Seamus Finnigan. His eyes—those mischievous amber orbs—filled with shock and surprise, then worry and fear. He was pleased that she was there and at the same time, knew that she should be far, far away from the battle. Just then, another giant tumbled out of the forest. This one was far taller than any other giant present at the battle, wielding a club that could easily take out a dozen wizards with a flick of the wrist. Theo grabbed Astoria's arm and pulled her away, both dodging the giant's massive footstep. She was about to gloat for a moment in her victory of producing a Patronus (and a vaguely corporeal one at that!) when she heard someone shout.

"NOTT!" the Death Eater, Yaxley, bellowed and Theo's face went white as the wizard began to storm their way.

"Run!" Theo screamed, shoving Astoria in front of him and next thing she knew, they were running for their lives from a wizard who had only one spell on his mind:

"_Avada Kedavra!_"


	17. Chapter 14: Do or Die

_Author's Note: And the next chapter is up after all the threats given to me to not kill Theo and update as soon as possible after such a cliffy cliff-hanger. I know, I'm a terrible person. But you readers, however, are awesome. __Fellow reader HypRRNeRd drew Astoria on deviantart! Her deviantart name is YaNahmaRii, so check it out._ And 34 reviews for last chapter? Seriously, you are all too kind. Enjoy, but have some patience before I post the next chapter. I'm still adjusting to my new life in Spain, and everything is exciting so that I don't have much free time. However, I will do my best to appease you all! The next chapter is coming along well, but there are a lot of big events, considering we will see the conclusion of the battle and the immediate aftermath. Besos! (I'm totally Spanish now...)

_And big chunks of italics are directly quoted from the canon._

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 14: Do or Die_

Draco Malfoy dashed up the winding stairs to the Ravenclaw tower, his mind set on finding the Carrows. He was determined to do one thing right that night and perhaps even locating the two Death Eaters might earn him some of the Dark Lord's favor. It was worth a shot—plus, he could maybe discover the true location of his parents—and so he pumped his arms and pushed himself up the stairs. A bronze, eagle-shaped knocker hung on the door and Draco pounded on it. He waited three seconds before trying again and ordering Blaise to magically unlock the door.

"_Alohomora!_" Blaise said and Draco was not surprised when the door did not unlock. However, he was surprised when it proposed a question.

"What is the strongest type of magic?" The three young Death Eaters were taken aback for a moment. Then, Draco and Blaise began to blurt out their guesses.

"The Dark Arts!"

"Transfiguration!"

"Potions!"

"Love," Goyle softly said and the door opened. Blaise and Draco stared at him in shock. "Dumbledore told me once in his office. I reckon I remembered it," he shrugged. Draco and Blaise continued to stare at him, eyes unblinking. "Uh, what are we doing?" he asked, returning to his dim ways. Draco pushed the door open and strode into the Ravenclaw common room. Alecto and Amycus Carrow, wandless, sat placidly in the middle of the room with their eyes glazed over and ropes wrapped around them.

"Blaise, untie them," Draco barked and Blaise reluctantly obeyed his orders. However, the Carrows made no movement once they were freed.

"Do you think…?"

"They must be Imperiused," Draco murmured. "You have to overpower the previous Imperius Curse."

"How?" Blaise whimpered, even though he knew exactly what he had to do.

"You have to cast the Imperius Curse yourself." Blaise gulped. "Honestly, you can release them from the curse right after, but we need to gain control over them."

"We?"

"We," Draco repeated firmly with a dangerous tone in his voice. "Do not get in my way, Zabini. Not now."

"You forget who has the wand here," Blaise added threateningly.

"If I have learned anything tonight, it is this: your wand can disappear in the blink of an eye. _Do it_, Zabini."

"No," Blaise responded and Draco raised an eyebrow at his defiance.

"Someone is feeling rather petulant this evening," Draco snorted, crossing his arms.

"I won't do it."

"Then give me your wand and I will," Draco proposed in an exasperated tone.

"_Fuck_ no."

"If the Dark Lord finds out that we did not do all in our power to free them..."

"What do I get?" Blaise blurt out.

"Pardon?"

"What do I get out of this?" Blaise asked and Draco thought to himself. He pulled Blaise aside, away from Goyle, and began to speak.

"You do not want to be here, do you?" Draco asked. Blaise stared at him like it was a trick question before slowly nodding. "Once I find my parents, they will get us both out of here. But we need to find them and the Carrows are the only sodding people in this castle who may know where they are."

"Al-alright," Blaise stammered and the two walked back over to Goyle, who frowned.

"Basic negotiations," Draco sniffed. "Never mind, Goyle."

"_Imperio,_" Blaise said and the Carrows' eyes became clear then glazed over again.

"Good," Draco coaxed. "And now release them… please," he added, the word tasting acrid on his tongue. Amycus and Alecto Carrow blinked a few times and moved as if they had been sitting for awhile.

"You!" Amycus bellowed in the general direction of Goyle, Draco, and Blaise.

"We came to release you, professors, so you may join this glorious battle," Draco smoothly replied and Alecto slowly smiled.

"You are full of surprises, Malfoy," she leered before rising to her feet.

"Not so fast," Draco said. "First tell me where my parents are."

"And if we don't?" Amycus chuckled.

"You are not in a position to mock, Amycus," Draco replied. "The Dark Lord would be very displeased if he knew that he had servants out of position."

" 'Out of position…?'"

"Yes, out of position," Draco smoothly lied. "In fact, you will both be lucky to live till sunrise unless you go to your positions immediately. He will not accept the excuse that you were Imperiused by some lesser professor."

"Then where are we supposed to go?" Amycus bellowed, appearing rather like a child in an owl shop. ("I want the brown one, not the white one!")

"Amycus, control yourself," Alecto snapped. "But pray tell, Malfoy," she silkily added.

"Tell me where I may join my parents first," Draco stubbornly stipulated. Alecto and Amycus looked at each other.

"The Shrieking Shack. That's where I last heard your father was to report to," Alecto reluctantly replied.

"Now that was hardly difficult at all," Draco rolled his eyes. "Alecto, you are to report to the grounds. Amycus, to the entrance hall. Shall we go now or would it be best if we wasted more time?" Draco sneered. The Death Eaters quickly strode out of the corridor. Alecto and Amycus picked wands off of dead wizards whose bodies scattered the hallways before dashing to their positions.

"You had better keep your word, Malfoy," Blaise hissed.

"To the Shrieking Shack," Draco said and as they were about to exit the castle, he saw Little Greengrass and Theodore Nott dash down the corridor with Yaxley hot on their heels.

No. Little Greengrass wasn't supposed to be there. She was too young, barely sixteen years old, and while she was incredibly (annoyingly) bright, she did not belong on a battlefield. And there was Nott, running from the Death Eater. Draco was shocked: they had actually taken a side, and the other side to boot. As a green spell—a Killing Curse—flashed by Greengrass' face, missing her by mere centimeters, Draco mused that the color of the spell precisely matched her eyes, those eyes that stared him down and told him that she was disappointed and disgusted in him. It would be hard to forget that precise shade of green and through the many years of his life, the color would continue to haunt him. In fact, he would never forget it. However, a handful of years later, he realized that he never wanted to forget.

But that was a long time away, and it was the present and a flash of green missed the Tiny Terror and Draco Malfoy realized what he had done. In his selfish desperation to find his parents, he released the two people who would make sure that Little Greengrass was dead by sunrise: Amycus and Alecto Carrow. That is, if Yaxley didn't get to the Tiny Terror and Nott first. So, before he continued to the Shrieking Shack, he paused once he made it outside, doubled over, and emptied the contents of his stomach.

* * *

Astoria did not remember feeling as afraid as she did then since the Carrows dragged her into the dungeons when her parents first dropped off the grid. Yaxley, the Death Eater, tore after Astoria and Theo through the hallway and she shot spells over her shoulder, anything that came to her mind, from Jelly-Legs Jinx to a Bat-Bogey Hex to a number of the spells taught in the Dark Arts by Amycus Carrow. Meanwhile, Yaxley seemed to prefer the Killing Curse. The spells narrowly missed Astoria and Theo as they ran.

She felt like she was being hunted down and could not bridle her terror. If she stopped running, surely her legs would collapse under her. There was no escaping the Death Eater. He was far more skilled than the young wizard and witch and he beat them in brute strength. What Astoria and Theo did have on their side, however, was speed and agility. They could duck from spells, slide around corners, and sprint down corridors with greater ease than the Death Eater. However, he fired spells at their backs and it was difficult to keep an eye on their blind spots. She and Theo had become Yaxley's prey and his insatiable appetite prevented him from tiring. Astoria cried as she ran, feeling like this would be how her life would end: a mad dash through the castle terminated by a flash of green light, having accomplished very little, affecting so few lives in the battle, and breaking her sister's heart.

"Miss Greengrass!" Professor Flitwick cried out, shocked to see Astoria at the battle. However, she ignored the professor and continued to run from Yaxley. Luckily, Flitwick saw this too and tossed up a Shielding Charm from Yaxley's most recent hex. The Death Eater seemed surprised by the intervention and sneered, preparing for a duel. Astoria and Theo slowly slunk away from the scene.

"Professor, we meet again," Yaxley purred.

"And I do hope it is the last time because I find this charade rather tiring," Flitwick sighed before nailing the Death Eater with a rapid succession of spells and pegging him with a powerful Stunning Spell. Astoria and Theo hardly had time to thank the professor or even acknowledge the good deed because a rogue Acromantula began to skitter down the hallway.

"To the grounds!" Theo shouted to Astoria and they ran.

Outside, it was mayhem. Wizards battled each other and magical beasts wrecked havoc indiscriminately. Astoria nimbly leaped over bodies and dodged hexes. She tried not to look down and see the dead witches and wizards, with their insides spilling out, bones protruding, necks snapped, and blood pooled around them, but it was a terrible necessity. At one point, she realized that she had lost Theo, who had gotten tangled up in the crowd. When she went to locate him, she tripped over a body and upon looking at the face, she saw the wide, dead eyes of some unknown witch looking right at her. Astoria scrambled away, but as the crowds of people dashed by her, someone's foot collided with her stomach, knocking the air from her and bruising her ribs. She was kicked and tussled about for a few seconds until she was magically pulled out of the throng. She was quite relieved for a moment until she saw who it was: Alecto Carrow.

"Miss Greengrass, fancy seeing you here," the woman purred as Astoria blinked back tears. Her wand had been knocked out of her hand as she was down. Utterly powerless, Astoria struggled and kicked. "Don't fight it, Greengrass," Alecto murmured. "You'll be dead soon and everything will end." It sounded so tempting. Astoria was tired of running, tired of lying, and tired of fighting. Her body was exhausted, her eyes had seen enough horrors to last a life time, and all around her she heard screams of death and loss.

"Fuck you," the words tumbled from Astoria's mouth and she found herself tossed backward through one of the few remaining windows that were intact. Astoria felt like her back was going to break upon impact with the glass, but the window shattered and she crashed backward on the ground. Her head spun and she felt dizzy and nauseous. She could not bring herself to rise, like she had lost all the fight in her. Her body was too wracked with pain to budge as Alecto leapt through the broken window. The Death Eater flicked her wand and Astoria's body was yanked up and pressed against a wall with her feet off the ground. The shards of glass already imbedded in her back dug in harder and she cried out in pain.

"You, Greengrass, do not deserve a quick death," the woman smiled and Astoria felt a magical hand close around her neck. She tried to cry out, she tried to scream, but she could do little to fight the force against her. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she thrashed, but the hallway was oddly empty. Astoria could feel the oxygen slip from her body as she struggled. Alecto's gleeful face was all she could see as Astoria slowly died and there was nothing she could do to change her fate. She had chosen her path and these were the consequences.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" she heard as she began to fade into darkness, but it was not the Death Eater's voice. Then, she saw a flash of green light burst upon Alecto's back. The woman's eyes bulged and Astoria felt herself tumble to the ground, gasping for breath, as Alecto keeled over, her wand slipping from her lifeless grip. Alecto Carrow was dead.

Astoria looked up and saw Theo's wand outstretched and cold determination in his gaze. He had done it. He had killed Alecto Carrow without regret, without a qualm, and he had done it for Astoria. He stood, stunned for a moment, before hurrying over to her. Astoria tossed her arms around his shoulders and began to sob. This wasn't what she wanted; she had never wanted any of this to happen. Theo may have cried with her, burying his head on her shoulder before he pulled away.

"You are hurt," he croaked and Astoria could not bring herself to thank him. Words were useless. Theodore Nott had saved her life by ending another, and judging by the look of remorselessness on his face, he would have done it again if it meant that she would live. She continued to cry and hold onto his shirt because she realized that she inexplicably trusted Theo. Previously, she could have denied this fact all she wanted, but now that he had saved her from her worst nightmare, she would have done anything for him. She trusted him with her life because he had deemed it worthy to save.

"Greengrass…" she heard a voice say and Astoria looked up to see Seamus Finnigan. He seemed to take in the scene, Theo holding a wandless Astoria as Alecto Carrow's dead body lay beside them. Just then, something passed outside the shattered window and Theo leapt to his feet.

"Finnigan, find Astoria's wand and keep her safe," Theo said hurriedly. "I have to do something."

"Where are you going?" Astoria sobbed. He did not respond and hopped out of the window. "_Theo!_" Astoria screamed after him before collapsing to the ground, sobbing.

* * *

Draco finished vomiting, wiped his mouth, and continued to run until he heard a familiar voice on his way through the grounds toward the Shrieking Shack.

"My dearest nephew, where are you going?" Bellatrix Lestrange asked him after shooting a Killing Curse at another witch. Draco watched her woman fall with a terrible thud to the ground, her eyes still wide open but awfully empty. "Draco?" his dear Auntie Bellatrix purred. "Oh, and Mr. Zabini and Mr. Goyle… what a pleasant surprise! Is this not a glorious day for us?" she shrieked before felling another wizard. Draco's heart pounded and his mouth went dry. _Merlin,_ the woman terrified him. And what could he say? It was she who taught him Occlumency—she could see right into his mind if he really wanted.

"We have information for the Dark Lord," Blaise quickly supplied, seeing Draco begin to panic. "He ought to know that we have freed the Carrows so they might participate in this infamous occasion."

"Precious," his dear Auntie Bellatrix cooed silkily. "He shall be most pleased. Any news on Potter?" Draco smoothly folded his hands behind his back so his aunt would not see that he was without a wand.

"No, my aunt. None," Draco gave his clipped reply. "But have you seen your sister?" he inquired and his dear Auntie Bellatrix merely laughed. It was a heartless, mocking laugh that made Draco want to curl up and resign himself to death.

"Don't be so silly, Draco!" she sniggered. "Do as you are supposed to do—find Potter," she snapped before flitting off. They stood there unsure what to do for a moment before Blaise pushed Draco.

"Like you said, to the Shrieking Shack," he said threateningly.

"We… we need to find Potter first," Draco's voice shook.

"_No_, we need to get the fuck out of here!" Blaise demanded.

"If we find Potter…"

"There is no 'we,' Malfoy!" Blaise shouted. "If _you_ find Potter, _that's _what this is about. We don't have time and you don't even have a wand. When are you going to realize that you are never, ever going to get Potter?" he continued to rant. Draco felt like he was going to be sick again. Blaise was right. Potter was never his. He was always the Dark Lord's and the Gryffindor had evaded Him plenty of times before. There was nothing he could do. He was set up from the start, put in a position where he was doomed to fail. The Dark Lord did not want him for his skills, but to punish his father, to make his family suffer. The Malfoy family was forever ruined.

"Alright," Draco said quietly.

"Did you not hear a word Little Greengrass said? You won't find—wait, you agree?" Blaise had been continuing his ranting until he stopped. Draco nodded his head.

"To the Shrieking Shack… before things get worse."

But they did. They grew worse very, very quickly.

It felt like it was happening in slow motion.

"Tracey! _TRACEY!_" Theodore Nott bellowed as Tracey Davis, the half-blood Slytherin, was hit by a Killing Curse from Mulciber. Theo released a scream of fury and loss before shooting a Killing Curse at Mulciber in revenge. Sobbing, Nott fell to the ground to hold Davis' lifeless body. Nott did not have time to mourn because Rowle began to fire hexes at him. He dodged them quickly and shot his own spells back, but suddenly, Rowle fell to the ground. Nott looked surprised, considering the Death Eater had not been hit by his spells, and grew even more surprised when he realized it was his father, Nott Senior, who had killed Rowle. Nott's mouth opened to speak, but just then, Dolohov shot a Killing Curse at Nott Senior, whose eyes remained on his son as he fell dead. There was an air of peacefulness around Nott Senior as he sank to ground, as if he had done his duty or completed his mission. Nott looked like an owl caught in the moonlight, eyes unblinking as Dolohov made his way toward him with his wand raised. Theo knew he was as good as dead and held tighter onto Davis, waiting for the flash of green light to terminate his life.

But, it never came. Instead, the battle froze as the Dark Lord spoke once again. And as all the Death Eaters retreated as ordered—including Dolohov, who reluctantly backed off from Nott, who cradled the dead Davis—Draco remained frozen, knowing he could do no such thing. He could not return empty-handed without Potter, yet there was no way for him to find Potter. So, he borrowed the advice he gave to Little Greengrass and he ran.

* * *

Theodore Nott was gone. He had promised to protect her, promised to have her back the entire way, and then in a blink of an eye, he left her. He had done his duty and more, but Astoria did not expect him to just leave so suddenly. She did not even know what he had set off to do. She remained curled up in a ball as Seamus Finnigan hovered over her. He cast a Summoning Spell and her ward soared into his open hand. He went to give it to her, but she was too busy crying. Awkwardly, he sank down next to her.

"Look at me, Astoria," he said and she did not even bristle at the use of her first name. Astoria met his amber eyes for a moment. Blood smeared his face and a deep cut on his chest slowly oozed scarlet. He struggled to breathe as if he had cracked a rib and winced in pain for a moment. "Are ye alright?"

"What does it fucking _look like, _Finnigan?" she screeched at him. "Theo just killed Alecto Carrow to save me and then he dashed off!"

"It must have been important to leave ye," Finnigan assuaged her, although it hardly helped. "Are ye hurt?"

"I do not want to think about it," Astoria shook her head and he carefully helped her to her feet.

"Ye are injured," he maintained. "Do ye want to rest for a minute, have Madam Pomfrey fix ye up?" Astoria slowly shook her head in exhaustion, feeling tears slip from her eyes.

"I want to fight," she whispered weakly and Finnigan studied her for a moment.

"Alright," he sighed. "We will go and guard one of the main stairwells," he conceded, placing her wand in her hand. Seamus did not run, but Astoria nearly had to skip to keep up with his long strides as they prowled through the castle. The slid up the stairs and hid behind one of the few statues that had not been animated as they silently took down Death Eaters who tried to run up the stairs. Behind them, Anthony Goldstein and Susan Bones, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff who Astoria had tortured, watched their backs.

For a moment, they were relatively safe as they surreptitiously picked off Death Eaters with well-aimed spells to Stun or hinder the Death Eater's progress. As Astoria calmed down, the pain she had pushed away began to sink in, as did the horrors of that evening. It was early in the morning now and it felt like she had been fighting for days, months, _years._ And so much was left unsaid and…

"Finnigan, if I die…"

"_No_, none o' that talk now, Greengrass," he snapped at her.

"But…"

"Ye are not goin' to die, Astoria, got it?" he said more sternly.

"But there is something I should tell you," she whispered and he looked at her oddly.

"Well, go on," he nearly stammered.

"You need to find Hannah Abbott and get her out of the battle or find some other way to protect her. It is not safe for her to be here."

"It's not safe for any of us to be here."

"Can you just trust me on this, please?" Astoria begged, thinking of the pregnant girl. "I would not ask unless it was absolutely necessary." He looked at her oddly again. "And there is one more thing," Astoria continued, blinking back tears. "Colin Creevey… I ran into him with Theo while we were trying to get back to the castle. He too had snuck back from the Hog's Head where they had evacuated us. He… he is dead." Her words hit Finnigan like a Stunning Spell to the chest and he sank to the ground in shock.

"No," he whispered, "not Colin…"

"_You have fought valiantly,"_ a chilly voice penetrated the air. _"Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."_ Astoria held her breath.

"_Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste._

"_Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. _

"_You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured." _Finnigan looked as her from the corner of his eyes while Astoria remained curled up, willing the voice to stop taunting them.

"_I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me."_ Astoria could not help but release a sob.

"_One hour,"_ the Dark Lord said at last and the castle grew hauntingly silent.

* * *

The Dark Lord's voice audibly faded, but the cold chill He sent down Draco's spine lingered long after. Draco's chest grew tight and he began to internally panic until he realized what he had to do.

"We have to retreat," Blaise managed to croak.

"No," Draco said, his voice eerily calm. "No, we do not." He looked across the courtyard at Theodore Nott, who was still cradling Tracey Davis' body. "I cannot go to Him without Potter. And _you_ are not supposed to be here at all," he said to Blaise. "If He knew…"

Goyle was silent and unquestioning.

"We need to get back to the castle," Blaise blurt out, continuing to panic. So, they dipped their heads low and ran. Luckily, everyone was too busy searching for friends that they did not realized their foes had slunk back into the castle. That is, everyone except one lone Death Eater.

Amycus Carrow had just finished carving a deep cut on Katie Bell, the Gryffindor Chaser, zigzagging down her back. She remained on the ground, her wand clutched in her shaking, immobile hand, as she held back sobs and screams of pain. Amycus appeared satisfied with his work when Draco, Blaise, and Goyle stumbled down the corridor he was in, deep inside the castle.

"Teachin' the blood traitor a little lesson," the Death Eater said gruffly. There was blood everywhere and Bell's body was shaking from pain.

"Excellent work," Blaise drawled before Stunning Amycus.

"What the bloody hell was _that_ for?" Draco screeched. "Are you trying to get us _killed?_"

"Not exactly the plan, Draco," Blaise sighed before shooting another three Stunning spells directly into Amycus Carrow's chest. It took Draco only a moment to realize why Blaise had done it, so he took a deep breath to collect himself.

"That is enough," Draco said calmly. "He will not be waking up any time soon." Blaise considered this for a moment before magically binding the Death Eater in ropes. Goyle appeared rather confused.

"Why did we rescue him and then make it so he can't fight again?" Goyle sighed in bewilderment.

"Because Amycus Carrow does not deserve any glory, Goyle," Blaise explained.

"We do?" Goyle asked.

"Yes."

"So why aren't we with the Dark Lord?"

"Because we have unfinished business," Draco slowly responded.

"Unfinished business…?"

"Yes, Goyle. But we need to get out of the hallway so I can just _think,_" Draco replied with unusual patience, despite his raging headache.

"Amycus' office is just down the hall. Let's go," Blaise said and began to magically levitate Katie Bell's unconscious body.

"Leave her," Draco ordered, his grey eyes piercing Blaise.

"I… I _can't_," Blaise said ever so softly. "She's going to die, bleed out, if we just leave her here. I mean, you saw Davis…"

"What happened to Davis?" Goyle asked.

"Shut up, Goyle," Draco snapped before turning to Blaise. He remembered Theodore Nott holding her dead body; he remembered her fierce attitude, her quiet bravery; he remembered Nott's plotting and planning, his seemingly neutral silence, the way he sobbed over her… "Fine. But we have to move quickly."

* * *

Astoria shook. Potter was still alive. There was still hope.

The castle was deadly silent, the kind of silence that promises a worse storm to come. The Dark Lord had delivered his terms but as Astoria crouched behind a statue with Seamus Finnigan, she found that everything began to come into focus. She had stopped running for awhile and everything had caught up to her… Colin Creevey, Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, his wife, their orphaned baby, the Acromantulas, Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange, the dementors, her Patronus, Yaxley, Professor Flitwick, Alecto Carrow, Theodore Nott, Alecto Carrow dead, Theodore Nott gone, gone, gone… Seamus Finnigan, his amber eyes, the shards of glass in her back, picking off Death Eaters on the stairwell, confessions, the Dark Lord's chilling voice… her sister (left behind), her parents (dead), Uncle Alastair and Victor (in hiding), the Greengrass Estate (in danger of destruction), Potter (_alive_).

"Greengrass… Astoria… we need to get to the Great Hall. Come on," Seamus Finnigan hauled her to her feet. She did so quite dazedly. Anthony Goldstein looked at her warily as he supported the limping Susan Bones; he nodded at her in acknowledgement, his eyes knowing who she was and what she had done, but not knowing why she had joined the other side. However, Finnigan stood close beside her as if to say that she was alright, that she was with them.

"Ye need someone to look at your back. There's a lot o' blood…" Finnigan murmured, but Astoria shot him down.

"I am fine. I just need to stay productive. Besides, others more urgently need care than I do," Astoria briskly responded.

"But Greengrass—"

"Finnigan, I am quite capable of compartmentalization," she retorted smartly.

"Oh, I know _that,_" he gave her a knowing look. "But I do think Nott would kill me if I didn't give ye back to him in one piece." Astoria's face darkened at the mention of Theo. "Ye worried about him?" Finnigan asked, frowning, and Astoria nodded her head.

"Quite," she said, her voice painfully small.

When they reached the Great Hall, all the tables had been pushed aside. Madam Pomfrey was busy healing on the raised platform where the professors normally ate. The dead were placed in the middle of the room. There was already a crowd around Fred Weasley's body—his entire family was utterly devastated. Astoria had never seen such pain before.

Everyone had someone. Even Lupin and his wife lay side-by-side, their hands reaching out to each other. Theo was nowhere to be seen. Finnigan had already bolted away seeing Lavender Brown's blood dripping off a table where Madam Pomfrey laid her.

"She's lost too much blood. The werewolf wounds will not close. She doesn't have much time, Mr. Finnigan." He quietly held Lavender Brown's hand, his face pale with grief.

"Don't ye give up on me, Lav. Don't ye leave us…" he murmured as her chest shakily rose and fell, shuddered, and then ceased to move.

There was so much death around her that it seemed to hang in the air like moisture on a humid day. Astoria began to question everything—what had she done? What had she gotten herself into? How would she get herself out?

"It is alright to have doubts, Astoria," a dreamy voice said behind her. "Almost everyone does at some point or another, I think." She turned around to see Luna Lovegood serenely smiling at her. "I was hoping we would meet again Astoria Greengrass."

"Luna," Astoria managed to croak, feeling tears prickle her eyes.

"I saw your Patronus," she continued conversationally, as if they were not in the middle of a battle. "It was quite lovely, I think, and it will be even lovelier when it is fully corporeal. You are very close." Astoria hardly knew what to say. "You appear like you have many Wrackspurts floating around you. They make your brain go fuzzy, you know."

"Or perhaps I have a concussion," Astoria suggested, but Luna seemed to find this theory rather implausible.

"I suppose it is a possibility, but I would sooner attribute your symptoms to Wrackspurts. Now, I feel quite silly standing here when everyone else is quite busy crying, dying, or healing, so I thought it might be good to go find some of the others in the castle who are hurt but cannot make it to the Great Hall," Luna supplied quite bluntly. "Perhaps you would like to come with me? I do enjoy your company," Luna smiled as if she was asking Astoria to join her on a jaunt in the park. Astoria dumbly nodded and Luna smiled again before ushering her down the hall.

Luna talked, but Astoria hardly remembered what she was talking about—something related to the 'Rotfang Conspiracy' and an army of Heliopaths and the Dark Lord hopefully succumbing to the Loser's Lurgey—but Astoria let Luna's calm voice wash over her ears and pacify her hammering heart. It seemed as though most students had a friend nearby to help them back to the Great Hall for treatment. They were deep inside the castle when Astoria found someone on the ground: Amycus Carrow sat tied up and excessively Stunned.

Feeling anger burst inside her, Astoria picked up his wand and snapped it over her knee. She screamed through her teeth in fury. Her anger had not subsided and she wanted him dead, tortured, anything to make him know of the horror and fear he instilled her with, the terrible things he had done to innocent kids. She wanted him to _pay_.

Astoria forgot that Luna was there. The Ravenclaw seemed to pass no judgment and made no remarks, other than suggesting that they part ways at the fork in the corridor to cover more ground. Astoria continued to glare at Amycus' unconscious body before she walked down the hallway. Suddenly, she stopped and retraced her last few steps.

A trail of blood drops petered down the corridor. Astoria slowly followed the drops until they stopped outside Amycus Carrow's office. She pulled out her wand slowly, mentally prepared herself to face head on whatever was behind the door, and turned the knob. However, no amount of mental preparation would have made the results any less surprising.

* * *

"Do you have any idea what you are doing, whatsoever?" Draco drawled once they were in Amycus' office. Katie Bell lay unconscious on the floor, blood still oozing from her back as Blaise steadied his wand.

"Not really… there are so many spells that can do this damage," Blaise murmured. Draco closed his eyes to quell his roaring headache before making a suggestion.

"Well, it is Amycus' doing, so think of the spells he taught us. Did you happen to catch the color of the spell?"

"No, but even if we did know what spell he used, it is not like he ever bothered to teach us the reverse incantation," Blaise muttered sourly.

"Did you pay attention at all when Flitwick proceeded to pound healing charm after healing charm into our brains?" Draco gritted his teeth.

"When did this happen?"

"Only this entire school year."

"And _you_ were paying attention?" Blaise drawled. Draco paused for a moment, pushing back the memories of Potter using _Secumsempra_ on him, his blood swirling in the cold water gushing from the burst pipes…

"I had enough foresight to figure that the lesson could come in handy one day. Did you try _Cicatrizarus_? Or what about _Maladie Blessurn_? There is also _Sanarafer_…"

"Smartass."

"I think 'helpful' is the word you are looking for."

None of the spells worked and Draco made sure that Blaise was saying the incantation correctly and doing the correct wandwork. Blaise was about to give up and Bell's skin grew paler and paler, but Draco still had one more spell on his mind.

"_Vulnera Sanentur,_" Draco said calmly. "If it is not that, I do not know what else you can do to save her."

"What are the wand motions?"

"I do not know," Draco said, thinking of Snape repeating the spell as he repaired the damage done by Potter. Where the fuck was Snape anyway…?

"So I am just supposed to wave my wand around and hope for the best?"

"As if you have not been doing that all night, Zabini," Draco snapped. "Just…" he gathered his patience. "Just repeat the incantation a few times slowly and point your wand at the wounds." Blaise rubbed his face and steadied his wand, following Draco's instructions precisely. After the first incantation, nothing happened, but by the second, some of the blood began to collect from off Bell's clothes and the floor and flowed back into her wound. Slowly, the skin began to sew itself up, leaving a silver scar across her back. Color began to return to Bell's face, but she remained unconscious. Draco nodded approvingly, even though Bell had still lost a lot of blood.

"How much time do we have left?" Blaise asked, leaning back.

"Thirty-two minutes," Draco said after glancing at his pocket watch.

"What are we going to do?" Blaise asked, his voice beginning to waver.

"Hope that Amycus does not wake up because then you are as good as dead which means I am as good as dead."

"What about me?" Goyle asked, but he was ignored.

(Meanwhile, Goyle had slipped Bell's wand into his robe pocket, but neither Blaise nor Draco noticed.)

"What should we do with her when the hour is up?" Blaise asked Draco, gesturing to Bell.

"I think we ought to be a little more concerned with ourselves," Draco muttered.

"Naturally. What I meant is that how do we not make her a liability?"

"If the battle commences we will leave her here. If… if Potter… we will put her where others may find her and further heal her wounds," Draco stammered, unable to put the words 'Potter' and 'win' in the same sentence.

"So now what do we do in the meanwhile?"

Hearing something outside, Draco motioned for Blaise to be silent. He had heard a muffled scream of frustration and now there were footsteps coming down the hall. They grew closer, then further away as if the person was backtracking, and then closer again before they stopped outside the door. Blaise raised his wand, prepared to face whoever was on the other side of the door. The knob turned and the door swung open to reveal… Little Greengrass?

"Fuck!" she whispered, jumping in surprise. "What the hell are you _doing_, Zabini?" she hissed.

"I could ask you the same fucking question. Shut the door!" he responded urgently. Little Greengrass quickly slid into the room and then took in its occupants. She looked back and forth between Blaise, Bell, Draco, and Goyle a number of times before her brain found the words she was searching for.

"What. The hell. Happened," she said slowly.

"Amycus was making a pretty picture in Bell's back and she was bleeding everywhere and so we brought her in here and…" Blaise rambled but Astoria raised a hand to stop him.

"Did you stop the bleeding?"

"I did."

"Good… wait, where are your wands?" she suddenly realized, looking at Draco and Goyle. Goyle could not make eye contact with the Tiny Terror while Draco drilled her with a killer glare. She hardly shrunk back. "Where is Crabbe?" Goyle fiddled with his shoelaces as he rapidly blinked. Draco shook his head the slightest. Little Greengrass bowed her head for a moment. "Alright," she said, appearing as though she was gathering her thoughts. "Zabini, did you do as you said you would?"

"You mean about Creevey?"

"No," Little Greengrass snapped, suddenly shaking with anger. Draco had no idea what was going on. "Theo and I ran into him on our way toward the castle and I watched him fucking _die_, Zabini. So you rather failed on that point," she snapped.

"Merlin, Greengrass, just calm the fuck down," Blaise muttered sourly.

"I will not 'calm the fuck down,'" she hissed at him. "What the bloody hell are you _doing_?"

"I'm bloody trying to do what I set out to do but plans change!" Blaise retorted petulantly.

"Well, what is the plan now?" she placed her hands on her hips. Draco looked at Little Greengrass for a moment and noticed she was all skin and bones, sharp angles and open cuts, bold bruises and angry green eyes. In particular, his eyes caught the scarlet bruise wrapped around her neck—someone had tried to choke her to death and nearly succeeded, judging by the bright pigmentation and the slight wheeze in her voice.

"Ask Malfoy!" Blaise threw up his hands and the Tiny Terror fixed her gaze on Draco.

"So, what is the plan?" she asked. "And if you tell me the plan is to find Potter, I promise to have a dozen Aurors here to ship your ass to Azkaban in three seconds flat." Draco's mouth went dry—because really she was rather terrifying—until he found the words.

"The plan is to go to the Shrieking Shack to find my parents, who will get us out of the battle."

"So why are you here in the castle?"

"Because if we go back now without Potter I might as well kill myself."

"So disappointing."

"I really do not think now is the time for sarcasm, Greengrass," Draco ground his teeth. Little Greengrass shrugged as if to say she hardly cared.

"If the Dark Lord enters the battle, you can bet that your mother and father will be right by his side," she said.

"Why?"

"Leverage," Little Greengrass ticked off her fingers. "Loyalty," she held up a second. "And then He has two human shields." Draco stood up angrily at this insinuation. "Do not even try to tell me that He would not use them in that way, Malfoy," she said lowly. "The truth is a bitch. So, I suggest that you wait until all chaos breaks loose and then hope for the best," she gave him a saccharine smile.

"What if Potter hands himself over?" Blaise asked. "Then what?"

"No one is going to let Saint Potter get anywhere near the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore's Army apparently likes their savior," she replied. "Any other stupid questions?"

"Can you get Bell out of here before she really becomes a liability?" Draco drawled.

"Funny you should ask, because Luna Lovegood and I have been scouring the hallways for people too injured to make their way back to the Great Hall. So, it is rather my mission at the moment to take Bell off your hands."

"You will not tell—"

"Honestly, Malfoy. _You_ do not do anything dumb and _I_ will not do anything dumb. If you so much as stray slightly from the plan—if you find yourself a wand and touch anyone, _anyone_ fighting for Potter or Dumbledore—I will hunt you down and make you pay," she leveled her wand dangerously at Draco's neck.

"Why would you ever become a blood traitor?" Draco asked with a sneer. She narrowed her eyes at him and then slowly smiled.

"The same reason you became a Death Eater, I assume: to protect my family. We were dealt the same hand but played our cards differently and that has made all the difference, Malfoy." With that, she flicked her wand and carried Bell's body out of the room. She paused in the doorway and stared him down again with that same look of disappointment. She went to turn her back to leave when he saw the bright scarlet mess on her back.

"Merlin, Greengrass, what's happened to your back?" Blaise exclaimed.

"Alecto Carrow threw me through a window," she said quietly, suddenly looking far younger than she actually was. She blinked a few times and looked down, causing Draco to feel sick to his stomach again. It was his fault. He had set the Carrows free and they had hurt her.

"Greengrass…" he croaked, trying and failing to form the words for an apology, but she slowly shook her head, then turned back around, and left with Bell in tow.

He looked at his pocket watch. Twenty-one minutes to go.

* * *

"Luna!" Astoria called down the hallway. "We got one!"

"Who is it?" Luna inquired as she floated down the corridor.

"Bell… Chaser for Gryffindor, I think. She is cut badly on her back, but Flitwick's healing charms proved quite useful. However, she has lost a lot of blood," Astoria hurriedly explained, trying the shake the image of Malfoy, his face pale and… remorseful? He was still the greatest git she had ever encountered, still as pathetic as ever. Her derision of Malfoy certainly had not faded with this encounter, but Blaise was walking a fine line. He still had yet to really pick a side, but that was typical Blaise, always skirting around responsibility and never owning up to his actions.

Once back in the Great Hall, Madam Pomfrey briskly took Katie Bell and set to work while Astoria was immediately shoved aside. There were still seventeen minutes left in the hour and the Great Hall had not changed since she left. Most were still mourning or tending to their wounds and the atmosphere of the room was still somber. Astoria felt tired, but she knew that if she sat down, she would lose the last of her nerve and be unable to fight, regardless of the outcome of the hour. She began to worry about Theo, because all was calm at the moment; he should have been able to return to the Great Hall without fear of Death Eaters. That is, he should have been able to return unless he was dead or gravely wounded. Astoria tried to push these thoughts from her mind and approached Neville Longbottom.

"Astoria! You shouldn't be here!" he cried out. "You're hurt. Come on, let's have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you…"

"She appears rather busy at the moment," Astoria drawled, watching the woman run from patient to patient. "I may wait. What can I do?"

"How about sit down and rest for a bit?" Longbottom coaxingly suggested.

"I can do no such thing, Longbottom. I… I cannot stop now," she stammered and suddenly, Longbottom appeared to have remembered something.

"Did… did you and Theodore Nott sneak back into the castle together?"

"Yes, but we got separated only a little bit before the hour started. Why, have you seen him?" Astoria asked desperately.

"He is outside on the grounds at the east wing," Longbottom said sorrowfully.

"Is he alright? Is he alive?" Astoria began to panic.

"He is alive," Longbottom said, but his voice was hardly reassuring. "You should go to him, Astoria." She needed no further encouragement and dashed outside, her eyes scanning for Theo's lanky frame on the grounds. At last, she saw him on the ground, crouched over something, so she ran to him. However, she stopped when she saw who he leaned over.

There was carnage all around him. Theodore Nott cradled Tracey Davis' body. Three Death Eaters also lay dead on the ground; one of them held a remarkable similarity with Theo. She carefully approached him and called out his name, but he did not seem to notice her. He choked back sobs of despair as tears ran down his face. Astoria felt her heart wrench to see her Housemate, perhaps the bravest of all the Slytherins, to lay dead, but Tracey Davis appeared more at peace than she had been during the entire year. Theo, however, was the epitome of devastation. He appeared inconsolable, but Astoria slowly sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch, but then bowed his head and began to sob.

They were deep, aching sobs, the kind that had been held in for far too long, the kind that only appear in the deepest moments of grief and desperation. Theo begged Davis to wake up, to not be dead, to just open her eyes, but Theo's pleading could do nothing. Astoria felt herself begin to cry, overcome by Theo's grief. Theo held Davis against his chest, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world.

"I was too late," he finally spoke to Astoria before beginning to sob again. Astoria gripped him tighter, although she was entirely unsure what she was supposed to be doing. So, she sat with him silently until his sobs subsided.

"Theo, we need to get her inside. The hour is almost up." He did not move. "Come on, Theo. I know it is difficult, but you do not want anything more to happen to her." Theo at last nodded his head and then scooped up her body, carrying her bridal style into the castle. He placed her with the dead with the utmost care and knelt by her body, still holding onto her lifeless hand.

_"Harry Potter is dead,"_ the Dark Lord's voice suddenly filled the castle. Many screamed in surprise, but then the truth sunk in: Potter was dead. They had lost. _"He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone._

_ "The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."_

Stunned and shocked, consumed with resignation, fear, and despair, Astoria tilted her head toward the ceiling in the Great Hall. The stars had begun to fade and the sky had lightened, but this did not register in her mind until later. She could not picture a life of servitude, nor could she picture the lives already lost and those that would be taken in minutes when the Dark Lord arrived with Potter's body. However, it was the time to do or die. The sun was just about to rise; a new day was on the brink of commencement; a new battle was just to come.


	18. Chapter15:The Reality of Immortality, P1

_Author's Note: Wow. Hit 300 reviews last chapter. You all are so amazing! Keep the reviews coming and let me know what you think! This is a two-part chapter, so the next update should be in about a week!_

_Chunks of text in italics are directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows__._

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 15: The Reality of Immortality, Part 1_

As Draco waited, he did not know that his mother was in the Forbidden Forest, peering over Potter's body, watching his chest twitch from holding his breath, and then asking if her son was alive. He did not know that Potter said yes, that Draco was alive, and he did not know that his mother then stood up and announced that Potter was dead when really his heart continued to beat. Draco did not know at that moment, everything changed. Instead, he thought everything had changed when the Dark Lord's voice suddenly filled the castle.

_"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone._

_ "The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."_

Draco had to take his place next to his father and mother, return to the Dark Lord's side and kneel before Him. He had to resign himself to servitude, resign himself to being trapped in a house that was no longer a home, resign himself to a cause that he was not sure that he believed in. Did superior witches and wizards have more of a right to life than those inferior? And what about those who did not think this was true? Did Bell deserve to be carved up? Did Brown deserve to be preyed on my Greyback? Did Little Greengrass deserve to be thrown through a window by Alecto Carrow? He simply could not justify the gore he had seen.

Yet, his fate had already been decided. He would follow in his father's steps, just like his father had done and his father before that. He would take up a job in the Ministry and promote his master's principles, swallow His propaganda for his every meal, and return home to his proper, Pureblood wife who he would probably never love. It was a terrible fate to stomach and Draco could not bring himself to stand up and face the music.

Blaise sat spellbound, his hands shaking as fear crept into his eyes. All colored had drained from his face. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, and mouthed out something that Draco could not decipher. Blaise, like Draco, had no choice but to serve. The Dark Marks on their arms beckoned them, urging them to rise like men and join the Dark Lord as he rebuilt their world on the glorious principles of old…

"We won, right?" Goyle asked but it did not feel like it. It did not feel like it at all.

* * *

Potter was dead. The battle was lost. Bodies were everyone. The castle was destroyed. They were to submit or lose everything and die.

She had fought. She had finally picked a side and she had survived the battle, only to lose.

She was going to die. She doubted the Dark Lord would take back a Pureblood who had betrayed him. He would kill her and hunt down her sister and kill her as well. Alastair and Victor would follow shortly and the entire Greengrass line in England would be dead. The house would be taken over by some family who would never know the land as the Greengrasses did, and the world would sink into darkness and oblivion. Theo would pay as well: the Death Eater's son would suffer greatly before his life would be mercifully exterminated. Luna would die for her father's magazine and her eternal faith in Harry Potter. Longbottom would die for leading Dumbledore's Army. Finnigan would die by his surly attitude and his position as second-in-command.

However, upon looking at what remained of their meager army, many of them already seemed dead, with broken hearts and clipped wings. Their only hope of salvation was gone after they had fought for so hard and lost so much. People around Astoria sobbed and held each other, knowing that this would be the end, that the world would never be the same. Weaselette was screaming that it couldn't be true, that He had to be lying, and Granger clutched onto Weasley as her knees gave out from under her. Longbottom had never looked so old as he leaned against a column, a single tear carrying away some of the dirt and blood covering his face. Finnigan, covered in Lavender Brown's blood, sank to the ground, clutching his knees as he stared at the ceiling, where the sky had grown lighter and lighter with each passing hour. McGonagall, who Astoria had always admired as a clever and strong woman, paced the room, muttering to herself before she finally strode out of the Great Hall toward the entrance of the castle. Suddenly, everyone was on their feet, quickly following her outside.

The dead, Theo, and Astoria were the only ones who didn't move. Astoria didn't want to die. There was so much she had not done and not said. So much of her life had been spent living a lie. She had been waiting for her life to begin but it had been happening all along, passing her by as she stood immobile, waiting for the world to be more forgiving, more accepting…

Finnigan was wrong. He said she wasn't going to die and he was wrong.

She could run. She could head toward the mountains and keep going, but she did not know how to Apparate and she had no money, no extra food, no survival supplies… she would meet the same fate as her parents if she ran. She would be hunted down and killed with little ceremony. So really, waiting in the Great Hall was only postponing her untimely death. Oddly enough, it was Theo who first rose. He shakily ran a finger across Davis' jaw before standing up and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He walked over to Astoria and stretched an arm out toward her. He had no words to offer her—for what could he honestly say? That he was sorry? That it wasn't fair that they were going to die? That she shouldn't cry? That it was their time?—and Astoria warily placed her hand in his. He pulled her up and continued to grip her hand as they joined the rest of the students in the entrance hall.

"_And who is this?"_ the Dark Lord asked and his voice chilled them to the bone. Astoria couldn't see anything through the crowd and refrained from hopping up and down because she realized that she had seen enough.

"_It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord!"_ Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked delightfully. _"The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?_

"_Ah, yes, I remember," _the Dark Lord crooned and Astoria began to pray that Longbottom would not do anything foolish or Gryffindor-esque. Then again, they came hand in hand. _"But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?"_

"_So what if I am?"_ he challenged.

"_You show spirit and bravery, and you come of a noble stock," _the Dark Lord began. _"You will make a very valuable Death Eater."_ Astoria caught the key word in the sentence: 'will,' not 'would.' _"We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."_

"_I'll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore's Army!"_ Longbottom cried and the crowd began to shout with him. Astoria knew he had signed his death certificate at that moment, regardless of how heroic and brave he sounded.

"_Very well. If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head, be it,"_ He said and she heard a window breaking. Astoria looked up to find the sound and saw something that looked suspiciously like the floppy old Sorting Hat jetting toward the grounds. _"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"_ He slowly cackled. The crowd seemed to jerk and struggle for a moment, but they were held at bay. _"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone who is foolish enough to continue to oppose me."_ Astoria cringed and screams pierced the air. She still could not see what was happening in front of her, but she saw what happened from the outskirts of the school quite clearly.

Suddenly, a group of witches and wizards vaulted themselves over the walls on the fringes of the grounds as a giant burst from behind the castle yelling, _"HAGGER!"_ The Dark Lord's giants descended upon him and moments later, the centaurs had snuck out from the Forbidden Forest and were now showering arrows upon the Death Eaters. And then next to her, she saw Theo take out his wand and fire it at the remainder of their little army. The spell caused them to jerk forward the slightest and it was all the momentum they needed as the battle recommenced.

* * *

He did not know how his feet had been propelled into motion, but he walked slowly down the hallway with Goyle and Blaise behind him. Blood pooled on the ground and there were gaping holes in the walls. Glass crunched under his feet and the only noise Draco could hear was his own breathing. He knew there must have been other noises going on around him; he couldn't focus. It was rather like walking in a dream, where nothing really _felt,_ things simply _were._ If metaphorically dragging his feet through the castle was like a dream, then he woke up to a nightmare.

All hell had broken out on the grounds and next thing he knew, Blaise had shouted, "Fuck it!" and cursed the nearest Death Eater, who crumpled to the ground, Stunned. Goyle yelped as a spell narrowly missed his head and skittered away. Draco saw him pull out a wand, but how did he get one? He realized that it had to be Bell's as Blaise continued to fire spells every which way, taking down Death Eaters and a few fighters for the Old Coot's Army when his aim was off until a Stunning Spell hit him in the chest and he fell to the ground. Draco grabbed his wand, figuring he probably wouldn't need it for awhile.

Then, he saw it: Longbottom pulled something fiery off his head but then reached back in it. When he pulled his arm away, he had a large sword in hand. Even though the battle raged and sounds of roaring giants, dueling wizards, hoof beats, and explosions filled the air, the light of the sword caught everyone's eyes as it traveled in a smooth arch toward Nagini, the Dark Lord's precious snake. Next thing Draco knew, Nagini's head was spinning through the air as the Dark Lord's mouth opened for a terrible scream. However, Draco never heard the yell. Instead, he heard Hagrid's cry:

"_HARRY!—HARRY, WHERE'S HARRY?"_

Draco did not know if Potter was alive. He did not know if the body the Dark Lord had procured was Potter's or if the Boy-Who-Would-Not-Fucking-Die was still lurking around the battle. He did not know whether to be relieved or displeased that there was a chance Scarface was still alive. However, he did know that he had to find his parents, and fast.

* * *

Theo quickly got lost in the crowd, throwing himself into the battle like he had nothing to lose, nothing to live for. The centaurs stampeded through the Death Eaters and both sides attempted to dodge the large feet of the giants as they bellowed and swung around their clubs. From the edge of the grounds, thousands of wizards and witches poured in. Astoria grew terrified of their numbers until she saw them take down Death Eaters—they were fighting for Potter.

_ "HARRY!—HARRY! WHERE'S HARRY?"_ she heard Hagrid cry out. The last time she saw the half-giant, he was being carried away in a group of Acromantula. A wave of relief swept through Astoria to know the Care of Magical Creatures professor was still alive, and then his words suddenly clicked in her mind. Potter's body was gone. Did that mean…?

She did not have time to complete her thought because a green curse whizzed by her ear. Where the hell was Theo? She saw him taking on two Death Eaters, firing and repelling curses with all the elegance and precision of an Auror, not the bookworm he appeared as. She could hear someone shouting her name tauntingly and it felt like the voice was everywhere. She wanted to collapse on the ground and give up, but then the skies filled with the oddest creatures Astoria had ever seen. They looked a bit like horses except not, with skeletal bodies and wings that resembled those of bats. They released a shrill cry as they battled the giants in the air. One swooped down next to Astoria as she heard the taunting voice grow closer and closer. The creature nudged her with its head, trying to direct her hands to its long, black mane, and Astoria suddenly knew what to do.

"Greengrass!" the voice hissed maliciously. It was Pansy Parkinson. A purple spell shot past her hip, leaving a deep cut that stung as she pulled herself up onto the strange creature. Its wide wings opened up, pulling Astoria skyward, and she saw the battle grow wider below her. She heard Parkinson howl in disappointment before meeting up with Gregory Goyle, who she dueled with back-to-back. They simultaneously felled a wizard with an emerald green spell. She saw Hannah Abbot and Seamus Finnigan narrowly escape a spell fired by the Dark Lord as they dashed into the Great Hall.

The Dark Lord was the most terrifying man Astoria had ever seen—if he was a man, that is. She could feel his anger even from high above. He knew he was surrounded by people who had betrayed him. If he saw her, with her Greengrass eyes and her father's features, she would be dead. In fact, he seemed intent on killing everyone in his sight, but for some reason the spells bounced off or narrowly missed. Astoria could not really see his face from so high above, but he was still a horrible sight to behold. Something about him inspired a terror so fierce that it would take a long time to shake the feeling of his presence. It made her pity Malfoy (the Great Git) for a moment, because he had been living in his home for the past year. For a moment, she saw Malfoy's white blonde hair push through the crowd, but she could not have been sure.

The creature Astoria rode on burst into the Great Hall with the centaurs from the Forbidden Forest, just the House Elves joined in, bearing kitchen utensils and diving at the feet and legs of Death Eaters. The creature clopped along as Astoria shot Stunning Spells and Tripping Jinxes at Death Eaters, anything to make them stop fighting for a moment. She felt so tiny up on the large beast. Then again, thestrals had the uncanny ability to inspire uncanny feelings. Indeed, the bizarre creatures that Astoria had spent so much time feeding that year had come to her in a time of need and taken her away from the battle for a moment. And now, they were no longer invisible but corporeal.

Astoria felt something seize her leg and she released a scream in surprise, ready to hex whoever had so determinedly taken hold of her. She looked down and saw a beautiful, elegant woman (if a bit disheveled and anxious from the brutal battle) with white blonde hair glare up at her with piercing dark eyes. This woman, Astoria realized, was none other than Malfoy's mother, the infamous Narcissa Malfoy née Black.

"Where is Draco?" she demanded of her.

"I do not know!" Astoria snapped in reply, trying to nudge the thestral away from the woman.

"Tell me where he is!" she shrieked.

"How should I know? He has picked his side," Astoria growled meeting Mrs. Malfoy's fierce gaze. The woman murmured something under her breath and strode off with a desperate stride, removing everyone who got in her way.

Death Eaters were falling left and right to duelists, arrow wounds, and the hoards of House Elves. She could see Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy push their way through the crowds, not even attempting to fight as they screamed out the name of their son. Astoria could hear Theo cry out for her as George Weasley and the Gryffindor who announced all the Quidditch games took down Yaxley, who had chased them down the hallway in his attempts to kill them both. She saw Flitwick bring down Dolohov, who had killed Remus Lupin. Hagrid tossed Walden Macnair against a wall, rendering unconscious the father of Warren Macnair, who had preyed upon Astoria once he learned of her value to the Carrows.

Theo held his hand out and Astoria grabbed it, pulling him onto the thestral as they wove through the Great Hall, daring to feel hopeful for the first time in a year.

* * *

Draco clutched Blaise's wand and tried not to think of his friend's unconscious form outside. Blaise would probably wake any moment now, especially as there were so few Death Eaters left, meaning that all with a heartbeat would be revived. Draco ran toward the annex outside of the Great Hall, searching for his mother and father. He had watched so many people fall and now he wanted nothing more than to see his parents one last time and to tell them that he loved them and that he was so, so sorry, so damn sorry for everything, and that he hadn't meant to, and that things weren't supposed to end up how they were.

And then, there they were, across the hall with eyes wide, looking for him. Yes, they were as desperate and frantic to find him as he was to find them. So, he ran to them, shouting for them like his life depended upon it.

All the words he had hoped to say to them came out in a sobbing, jumbled mess as he threw himself into his mother's arms. His father gathered around them both and all of them shook from fear and happiness as the battle raged behind them. He could hardly describe his elation to be reunited with the only people in the world who loved him and he could have stayed in his parents arms forever had it not been for the fact that everyone was trying to kill them.

"I love you, I am sorry…" he sobbed as his mother tried to speak over him and his father looked tired and resigned to whatever fate met them, because he had his son and his wife and that was all he needed at the moment.

_"NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!" _ Draco heard a woman cry and he saw Mrs. Weasley challenge his dear Auntie Bellatrix to a duel. His mother had caught the sight but somehow blocked it out as she determinedly fixed her eyes on her son as if he was the only thing that mattered.

"Draco, it is over. We need to get to Kingsley," she said and Draco felt his mouth go dry. The battle was hardly over—Death Eaters continued to fall as the Dark Lord screamed with rage. If He saw them, they would all be dead, but He was dueling with McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley. Draco did not have the energy for cheek and held back the remark that Kingsley looked a little preoccupied at the moment, fighting the most terrifying wizard of their generation and all, so instead he looked at his mother in shock. They were the last Death Eaters conscious in the hall. His dear Auntie Bellatrix laughed her last laugh and Draco saw his mother wince before the green spell hit her sister, as if she knew it was over for the Death Eater.

A lot of things happened at once. The Dark Lord screamed in fury at the loss of his most loyal follower and blasted backward McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley, who landed near their feet. Draco's mother pulled the Auror to stand before plainly announcing that she, her husband, and her son had decided to defect before shooting a curse at Travers and giving Draco a look to hex the nearest moving Death Eater. Terrified and bewildered, Draco shot a spell at the shakily rising Fenrir Greyback. He did not even realize what he was doing at the time and his mother's words had hardly registered. It just happened so fast that he had no time to think and everything was coming to a climax.

Then came the coup de grâce:

Potter stood in the Great Hall, very much alive, facing the Dark Lord. And although it was fucking _Potter _and Potter never used to inspire positive feelings, Draco felt something new: hope. In fact, he thought that hope was a thing with feathers because he felt like he was fucking _soaring_. Greengrass would laugh at him years later when he described this feeling and would tell him that some Muggle poet had already come to that conclusion. She would then pull a book from the library as the candlelight caught her firm calves and lithe arms, and she would whisper the poem to him, the sound serenading the entire Greengrass library. And when she would finish reading it and look at him with her hypnotizing green eyes, he would swear that she would be his, no matter what.

But that would come much later. For now, Potter was alive and he had his mother and his father and hope was a thing with feathers.

* * *

Bellatrix Lestrage was dead and suddenly everyone was shouting "HARRY!" and there he was, wand in hand, staring down the Dark Lord. Frankly, Astoria was surprised that she and Theo were still alive: the daughter of blood traitors and the disloyal son of a Death Eater were not likely to survive for long. Had it not been for the fact that Harry Fucking Potter was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, the Dark Lord surely would have noticed the two purebloods on the thestral, two traitors who would have a quick death if they were lucky.

"_I don't want anyone else to try to help! It's got to be like this! It's got to be me," _Potter declared as silence fell over the Great Hall.

"_Potter doesn't mean that. That isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?" _the Dark Lord sneered.

"_Nobody,"_ Potter shrugged. _"There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good…"_

"_One of us?"_ the Dark Lord shrieked in delight. _"You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was the one pulling the strings?"_

"_Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?" _Potter bellowed. _"Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight, and survived, and returned to fight again?"_ he listed as the wizards continued to circle each other.

"_Accidents!" _the Dark Lord screeched and Astoria shuddered. _"Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!"_

"_You won't be able to kill them tonight,"_ Potter said coolly. _"You won't be able to kill any of them ever again. Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people—"_

"_But you did not!"_

"_I meant to and that's what I did." _Astoria's jaw sprung open and she looked to Theo for an explanation. A wave of confusion passed over his face but he did not respond and instead continued to listen. _"I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. You can't torture them. You can't touch them. You don't learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?"_

Riddle. The most powerful and terrifying wizard of their day had a name. Before he was the Dark Lord or Lord Voldemort, he had a name. He walked the hallways of Hogwarts. He sat in her common room. He was ambitious and cunning and persuasive. He was a Slytherin.

Where did he go so wrong? Slytherins were not always the most moral, upright types, but the Dark Lord had reached a level where he was no longer human. Where did his compassion go? His remorse? His empathy? Where did all those emotions that made humans so _human_ go and what did he do to push them from his soul?

"_You dare—"_

"_Yes, I dare," _was Potter's clipped, sarcastic reply. _"I know a lot of things you don't, Tom Riddle," _Potter taunted. _"I know lots of important things that you don't. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?" _More than ever, Potter had the Dark Lord's attention—after all, Slytherins loved secrets.

"_Is it love again?" _the Dark Lord sneered the word as if talking about something foul. _"Dumbledore's favorite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork?"_ Astoria shuddered and her mind began to drift off to Malfoy the Great Git and that night they stood on the Astronomy Tower and he pointed out exactly where he and Dumbledore stood on that terrible night… _"Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter—and no one seems to love you enough to jump forward this time and take my curse." _George Weasley held Weaselette at bay, who had lunged toward the two wizards. _"So what will stop you now when I strike?"_

"_Just one thing."_ Everyone waited in anticipation.

"_If it is not love that will save you this time, you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?"_

"_I believe both," _Potter said, causing a quiet gasp to ripple through the crowd which was silenced when the Dark Lord began to laugh, a humorless sound that made Astoria want to run and hide from fear.

"_You think you know more magic than I do? Than I, Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?"_

"_Oh, he dreamed of it," _Potter answered confidently, _"but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you've done."_

"_You mean he was weak!" _the Dark Lord screeched defensively. _"Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!"_

"_No, he was cleverer than you, a better wizard, a better man," _Potter declared and it sounded lovely, although Astoria was rather certain that every man was a better man than the wizard with the snakelike red eyes.

"_I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!" _the Dark Lord cried, reminding them all of that painful fact that brought on the downward spiral of Hogwarts.

"_You thought you did, but you were wrong." _The crowd took a collective breath. Was Dumbledore alive? Where had he been all this time? Why didn't he stop the Carrows?

"_Dumbledore is dead!" _the Dark Lord spat. _"His body decays in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle, I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!"_

"_Yes, Dumbledore's dead," _Potter conceded, _"but you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant."_

"_What childish dream is this?"_

"_Severus Snape wasn't yours," _Potter declared, a triumphant smile flitting across his face for a moment. _"Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand." _It only took Astoria a moment to realize what that 'thing' was: it was love, because the Dark Lord was incapable of love because he was no longer human.

_Love._ Snape had loved Potter's mother. Snape never actually wanted to have the Carrows around or to be a servant of the Dark Lord; he never wanted the students to get hurt and maybe he had been protecting them from far worse fates. He had let Astoria off easily once or twice, as well as Longbottom, Weaselette, and Luna… what else had he done that they did not know about?

"_You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?" _Silence. _"Snape's Patronus was a doe, the same as my mother's, because he had loved her for nearly all his life, from the time they were children. You should have realized, he asked you to spare her life, didn't he?" _Potter asked impudently causing the Dark Lord to flare his nostrils.

"_He desired her, that was all," _the Dark Lord miffed, _"but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, more worthy of him—"_ Potter cut him off.

"_Of course he told you that, but he was Dumbedore's spy from the moment you threatened her and he's been working against you ever since. Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!"_

Astoria knew from the whispers that Snape had killed Dumbledore, but this was news: that Dumbledore knew his death and planned it to keep Snape's cover. But Dumbledore had been sick? Astoria could not even picture the man weakened, although she knew he was very old. It was an odd thought, Dumbledore dying. She vaguely wondered if this relieved some of the Great Git's guilt or if it only made it worse; she wanted to know what Malfoy now thought of the man he considered his mentor, if he thought more or less of him.

"_It matters not!" _the Dark Lord shrieked. _"It matters not if Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape's supposed great love,"_ the Dark Lord sneered the last word in the sentence with the utmost disgust. _"Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand!_

"_Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me!"_ Astoria's mind swam to her reading, her mind flipping through books, trying to locate where she had heard of such a thing. Then, she knew what it was: it was a wand of legend, of storybooks and folklore, but apparently not. She had read of it (outside of "The Tale of the Three Brothers" in _The Tales of Beedle and the Bard_) when Daphne got her wand at Diagon Alley and being destined to be Sorted into Slytherin, she found the idea of an all-powerful wand quite alluring. _"He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got ahead of you, little boy—I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Stick of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!"_

The death of Severus Snape hit Astoria surprisingly hard. She felt her breath leave her body in a dejected moan, thinking about how much sadness he had endured, only to die not knowing if he did it all in vain, if he kept Potter alive only to send him to his death—because the Dark Lord did yield the most powerful weapon. Potter was finished… but wait, Potter had said that he thought he possessed a stronger weapon. But what was stronger than the Elder Wand?

"_Yeah, it did," _Potter conceded. _"You're right,"_ he said, and although Astoria could not see the Dark Lord, she could feel that he was smiling: it was a horrible, sinking feeling. _"But before you kill me, I'd advise you to think about what you've done… Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle."_

"_What is this?" _the Dark Lord asked with much surprise, as if it was a foreign concept. However, Astoria realized a second later that it probably was. His confusion was almost comical as he pondered the word.

"_It's your one last chance, it's all you've got left,"_ Potter said slowly, with the patience of explaining to a toddler why the sky is blue. _"I've seen what you'll be otherwise… Be a man… try… Try for some remorse," _Potter pleaded, but even the Boy-Who-Lived knew it was an impossible request.

"_You dare—" _the Dark Lord began to hiss, causing everyone to wince and wait for the Killing Curse.

"_Yes, I dare because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you. The wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore," _Potter continued, causing ripples in the crowd as everyone began to piece together Potter's story.

"_He killed—"_

"_Aren't you listening?" _Potter shouted at the Dark Lord, causing everyone to gasp. _"Snape never defeated Dumbledore! Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"_

"_But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" _the Dark Lord cackled, the sound reminding Astoria of fingernails on a chalkboard. _"I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I took it against its last master's wishes! It's power is mine!"_

"_You still don't get it, do you, Riddle! Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours," _Potter sagely reasoned. _"Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… the Elder Wander recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who had never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous weapon had given him its allegiance…" _Then, the blow came: _"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."_

Oh, where the fuck was that Great Git? Astoria hoped for his sake that he had already gotten far away from the battle because he was inches from his death. But wait, Malfoy _was_ the master… that meant that something had changed, that Potter had one last secret up his sleeve.

"_But what does it matter?" _the Dark Lord said softly, his mind far away, already planning his next scheme. _"Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…"_

"_But you're too late,"_ Potter declared, causing Astoria to sigh in relief (what an odd sentiment it was), knowing what Potter was going to say… finally, some of the truth about what happened at the Malfoy Manor would come out. _"You missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him." _It was utterly silent for a moment as this truth settled in. Hope lingered in the air as dawn was nearing and two spells would decide the fate of thousands… _"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" _Potter whispered. _"Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand."_

Just then, the sun burst over the ridge, pouring into the Great Hall from one of the broken windows. They were all drowned in a dazzling light and Astoria thought that it was the end or a beautiful beginning. Such light… it was absolutely enchanting. The Great Hall had not been lit up in such a pure way for a good year. She could have bathed in the light, spun around in circles with her fingers stretched skyward, just as she did with Daphne when she was little, and they were convinced they could catch sunlight in their little fists if they reached high enough…

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Above the crowd, Astoria saw the green Killing Curse and Potter's Disarming Spell collide. Then suddenly, a wand, a long, distinct wand (it had to be the Elder Wand) spun through the air. There was a thump and then silence. Astoria held her breath, waiting to find out who had fallen and who had lived. Her question was answered when a cheer erupted around her. Everyone ran toward Potter, embracing him, touching him, shaking his hand, cheering, crying, kissing, hugging as the newly risen sun continued to fill the room until it felt like they were going to burst from all the light.

It was a beautiful morning, Astoria thought as she surveyed the ruined castle, the broken glass, the shards of the tables strewn everywhere, the blood splattered on the walls, the happiness and relief on everyone's faces. Astoria looked to Theo, who looked to her at that exact moment. Slowly, he sat down and placed his head in his hands and began to cry. Astoria, still emotionally stunned, looked up at the ceiling. It was a cloudless morning and the sun was out. It was May and summer was just around the corner and the most terrible wizard of their generation had been defeated. Across the country, those Imperiused would come to, Death Eaters would flee the country (only to be quickly round up by Aurors), and the innocent would walk out of Azkaban and into the glorious sunshine… it was such a beautiful morning after such a terrible nightmare that Astoria found herself laughing—a good, real laugh because everything was going to be okay. And as she laughed, she cried; she cried tears of happiness because she was alive and the wizard world would wrap a bandage around itself and slowly heal, overcome, and thrive. They all would, together: Purebloods, half-bloods, Muggleborns, man, woman, child, centaur, House Elf, goblin. Because now there was hope—real, ardent hope—and no one could take that away from them. No one could hurt Astoria ever again or the few remaining members of her family. They would love each other and look after each other and the world would turn and time would continue—and this, Astoria knew, was the reality of immortality, because they did not live forever and that made life so damn beautiful.

* * *

It took Draco Malfoy most of the summer to figure out how he felt about the final duel between Potter and the Dark Lord. It took him awhile to realize that his feelings mattered and it was alright to be happy that his arch nemesis had won. It also took him awhile to figure out that Potter wasn't the villain—instead, the villain was the man who put the hideous tattoo on his arm.

All Draco knew was that when his mother declared that they were to defect, Kingsley looked at them in shock, his eyes darting back and forth between Potter and the Dark Lord and the Malfoy family.

"Your terms?" he asked, rather distracted.

"Immunity from Azkaban," his mother declared forcefully and even a half-paying attention Kingsley knew this was not a fair deal.

"The things your family has done…" Kingsley snarled before shooting another curse at a slowly rising Death Eater. Draco watched in horror as Blaise fell back to the ground, blood seeping between his fingers as he applied pressure to the wound on his neck.

"The things my family _knows,_" his mother corrected him. "They all have been in our house for the past year. We know _everything,_" she insisted persuasively.

"And you all will cooperate? You will tell everything, leave no rock unturned?"

"They will. _We_ will."

"You will stand trial. I will not make any guarantees."

"We are not His people. Not anymore," Narcissa Malfoy shook her head and they all turned to watch the duel.

"I will see what I can do," Kingsley replied and next thing Draco knew, the flash of green light came and suddenly the Dark Lord was dead and gone, forever and ever. He was dead by Draco's wand and it was a small victory in itself. Everyone around him was cheering, crying, and celebrating, happy that the war was over while Draco clung close to his parents, unsure if they were supposed to be there or how he was supposed to feel. Then again, no one really cared that they were there. He was covered in burns and his mother sat stoically with a glimmer of victory in her eyes, while his father slouched in defeat, looking older than ever. How broken they seemed while everyone was so damn happy.

Draco, on his part, felt a little happy but was wary of the feeling. He was happy, but he was not an idiot. Things would not turn right around. His family would have to tell everything they knew, making them traitors to all Purebloods. Did that then make them blood traitors? Would the House of Malfoy fall with a whimper? His family would stand trial and could face time in Azkaban. _Shit,_ he could go to _Azkaban_, to _fucking Azkaban._ He wouldn't last a second. He saw what it did to his father. _Bloody hell,_ he couldn't go there. He would do anything to avoid going there, even if it meant losing everything: the house, the family reputation, his fortune… anything to escape that terrible fate.

Fucking Greengrass was laughing… or crying… or both. Nott was sitting and had his head in his hands. They would be alright. They had no Mark and they didn't defect at the last possible second. Across the room, he saw some Aurors yank up Blaise, who looked rather pale and had a hand pressed to a cut on his neck. What would come of Blaise? He had not defected and he was Marked… but he helped Bell and he took down a few Death Eaters…

In short, Draco Malfoy was very confused. The only simple thing seemed to be death and at that moment, the only thing he knew for sure was that the Dark Lord was dead. For awhile, that was enough.

* * *

She had no idea how much time had passed before people began to stop celebrating and pick up the remaining dead. There was so much damage to the castle and a dusty haze settled over them until the Scottish wind picked up early morning and blew away the smell of death. No one was quite sure what happened to the Dark Lord's body. It seemed like it just disintegrated or blew away, like he was never there. But he was and the rubble and blood on the castle and grounds told that story.

Eventually, people began to pour in from Hogsmeade as mugs of butterbeer, tea, and coffee were passed around. Theo got his hands on a bottle of Firewhiskey—apparently Blaise had it tucked away somewhere—and was slowly nursing the cinnamon alcohol as he sat next to Tracey Davis' body. Astoria quietly sipped on her butterbeer, which made the cuts on her back sting a little less and she watched the magic around her. She watched Neville Longbottom pull Hannah Abbott into a hug, them both crying and touching each other's faces like they thought the other one was dead. Seamus Finnigan had pulled off his shirt that was covered in Lavender Brown's blood and had borrowed a jumper from Weasley, who was surreptitiously holding hands with Granger. Luna had a rather one sided conversation with Weaselette, who seemed to be looking for someone. Potter was nowhere in sight. Astoria figured that one of his friends had allowed him to sneak away from the crowds and get a little rest.

Rest. Astoria rather craved that as well. She was beginning to almost nod off when she heard a familiar voice shouting outside. Hands shaking, Astoria peered out one of the broken windows and dropped her mug when she saw who it was: Daphne was running through the grounds, desperately shouting her name. Already feeling her throat go tight, Astoria bolted down the aisle of tables, passing the Malfoys on her way outside as she shouted her sister's name. The look of relief on Daphne's face was all Astoria needed to begin to bawl.

"I am so, so sorry—"

"Merlin, you're alive… you're _alive…_"

"You are _here…_"

"Don't you _ever_ fucking leave me again, you hear?"

"I love you."

"I was so worried, Tori. You shouldn't have been here… you shouldn't have just left."

"I know, I know, I felt… I felt…"

It all came out in a jumbled mess as they bawled and embraced each other, green eyes bloodshot with tears and brown hair and blonde curls clinging together.

"Where… where's Blaise?"

"I… I do not know, Daph."

"And Malfoy?"

"With his family."

"Are they going to Azkaban?"

"I honestly do not know why they are not there yet."

"What about Tracey?" Daphne asked and Astoria sucked in a breath.

"Theo is with her."

"And how is he?"

"Daphne… Tracey is _dead_."

Jus then, there was a wail of loss as Fiona fell to the ground beside her sister's body. She screamed and sobbed and Astoria felt her eyes prickle with tears once again. Silently, hand in hand, Astoria and Daphne walked over to where Theo and Fiona knelt. Daphne embraced Fiona, murmuring comforting things to the inconsolable girl, and Astoria placed her hand on Theo's arm, hoping he would understand the remorse she tried to convey. Fiona's wails did not cease for a long time and when she did, she asked the terrible question:

"How?" she demanded, looking to Astoria and Theo for an answer.

"Mulciber," Theo at last spoke the name.

"I want him dead," Fiona fiercely spat.

"He is," Theo replied hollowly and Astoria knew by his voice that he had done the deed.

"Theo… your father…?" Daphne slowly began.

"Dead. He killed Rowle for going after me after… and my father was killed by Dolohov, who was killed by Flitwick… Astoria, you need to go to the Hospital Wing now," Theo said, his voice void of all emotion. Daphne surveyed the damage and her lip began to tremble, so Astoria finally assented.

Most of the gravely injured had already been sent to St. Mungo's, so everyone there was having little cuts healed and broken bones mended. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips when she saw Astoria's back and sat her down on a bench (all the beds were taken) and Hannah Abbott situated herself behind Astoria with some tweezers. With quiet hands, Abbott severed the remaining rags covering Astoria's back and began to sponge away some of the blood before pulling out the shards of glass embedded in her back.

"I'm sorry, we're out of pain potion and Dittany. It does hurt, doesn't it?"

"A little," Astoria murmured, studying one of the paintings on the wall to distract herself.

"It will probably scar."

"That is fine." They were silent for a moment.

"I will tell Neville… soon." She was talking about her pregnancy.

"I know."

"It's just… I can't do it now. Not until things settle down. In the next few days, I will."

"I know," Astoria repeated. She hissed as Abbott pulled out some glass.

"I'm sorry."

"It is alright," Astoria shakily exhaled.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything," Abbott sighed, plucking another piece of glass out. "For helping me. For not telling. For having Seamus protect me. He oddly respects you, you know that? Neville too. They think you are a good person, deep down." Astoria really had no idea how to respond to that. "You realize that you were the youngest person who fought? Colin was the next youngest but he…"

"He is dead," Astoria sadly finished the sentence. "I hope… I hope that everything works out between you and Longbottom," she awkwardly said, hoping to turn away from talking about Colin anymore.

"I hope so too," Hannah weakly smiled and then the doors opened and Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were all but shoved into the Hospital Wing. Astoria did a double-take before addressing the boys.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?


	19. Chapter15:The Reality of Immortality, P2

_Author's Note: Sorrrrrrry kids! I've been so busy lately. Currenly, I'm at minimal functioning level. My bed beckons, as does my homework. Another fine Barcelona weekend. _

_I have mixed feelings about this part of the chapter... something about the pacing isn't quite right. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 15: The Reality of Immortality, Part 2_

...then the doors opened and Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were all but shoved into the Hospital Wing. Astoria did a double-take before addressing the boys.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?

* * *

After Blaise was hauled up, the Auror made his way over to Draco and said that he needed treatment before they could take him into custody. Naturally, his mother announced that they were not to be taken into custody and that Kingsley had made a deal with them. The Auror knew of this, but Narcissa Malfoy could be rather terrifying when her son was involved in anything and did not let Draco out of her sight until she received a firm promise that he would be promptly delivered back to her and that if he wasn't, she would personally ensure that the Auror would find himself doing paperwork for the rest of the summer. Indeed, positively terrifying—the Auror was shaking as he pulled Draco away.

"What's happening?" Blaise asked Draco as they were lead down the hallway.

"We are going to the Hospital Wing," Draco plainly replied.

"Be quiet," the Auror said. Blaise ignored him.

"No, I mean what's going to happen to us?"

"We will stand trial."

"Do you think—"

"Quiet!"

"Do you think they will send us to Azkaban?"

"They will if you don't be quiet!"

"Did your family really defer?"

"Yes."

"Oy, shut it!"

"You took my wand."

"I did not really have much of a choice."

"You took my fucking _wand_ and I woke up from that Stunner and had _no_ way to protect myself…"

"Will you two shut the bloody hell up?" roared the Auror.

"You know what? As far as I know I could be sitting in a fucking cell in fucking Azkaban for the rest of my bloody life, so I'm going to talk as much as I bloody well want to while I can, thank you very sodding much!" Blaise bellowed at the Auror.

"Mr. Zabini!" Madam Pomfrey scolded him. "You will not use that kind of language in this room if you expect to receive treatment!" They had made it to the Hospital Wing. It appeared as though all the beds were taken and not far in front of Draco were two girls. One sat on a bench, her back fully exposed and covered with blood as another girl pulled shards of glass out of her back. Draco could have run a finger down her spine and felt every single vertebrae—she was that emaciated. Dark hair was tossed over her shoulder and the girl turned her head to see what was happening. When she did a double-take, Draco realized who it was: Little Greengrass.

"What the fuckare _you_ doing here?" she scowled.

"We were actually planning on playing jump rope," Blaise sarcastically retorted. "Care to join?" Little Greengrass merely raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to you?" she asked Blaise.

"Well, Draco took my fucking wand after I got hit by a Stunner and then I was stumbling around the Great Hall as all hell broke loose and next thing I know, I'm fucking bleeding everywhere…" he rambled on as Draco rolled his eyes. Although in all fairness, it was a rather nasty cut, from his right ear, across his neck, and along his left collarbone.

"And what about you?" she asked Draco more quietly.

"My family… defected. We defected." Little Greengrass studied him fiercely with her pale green eyes. It was an unnerving gaze.

"Typical Slytherin move. Saving your asses at the last sodding second…" she drawled.

"Language!" Madam Pomfrey shouted their way before dragging Blaise away to tend to his cut. Little Greengrass hissed as another girl—it was Abbott—pulled glass out of her back. She took a shaky breath before speaking again.

"Will you go to Azkaban?" she asked, and this time, her green eyes held a tinge of sadness.

"Blaise probably will until his trial."

"Does he know that?"

"He will figure it out soon enough," Draco responded. They were being oddly civil.

"And you?"

"I do not know. We made a deal with Kingsley, but there are no guarantees. Have you seen Pansy? Goyle?"

"Well, the pug-faced bitch Parkinson went after me."

"Not surprising," Draco drawled. Little Greengrass made no reaction.

"Do not let Daphne know." Draco shrugged.

"And Goyle?

"The last time I saw him, he was in the process of killing someone with Parkinson, so they broth are either on the run or on a one-way trip to Azkaban," Little Greengrass explained. Draco's head swam. "Davis is dead."

"I know, I… saw."

"How did you get your burns?"

"Fiendfyre."

"Is that how Crabbe died?"

"Yes." Little Greengrass let out a yelp as Abbott pulled one of the larger shards from Astoria's back. She painted an odd picture: scarlet blood, ivory skin, and hollow green eyes. It was strangely evocative, like a painting in a museum that catches one's eye and remains imprinted in memories long afterward. "Your sister?"

"Fine. Relieved. Your parents?"

"Same. Nott?"

"Nothing is going to be the same," she whispered as her body shuddered with pain.

"Only a few more pieces, Astoria."

"It is fine, Abbott," Little Greengrass snapped. She turned away from Draco and Madam Pomfrey called him over to tend to his wounds.

"You poor, poor thing," she murmured as she glanced at the Dark Mark on his arm as she tended to his burns. Draco looked down at it in disgust, but with resolve: by morning, it would be gone, one way or another.

* * *

It was 9 am when Astoria left the Hospital Wing. She had been loaned a hospital gown and had been told to shower, have someone apply ointment to her back, and then bandage the wounds. The worst had been magically closed, but most were expected to slowly scab over and heal naturally. Astoria slunk back to the Slytherin House, which swung open without a password. Inside, Professor Slughorn was whispering with a few Aurors and greeted her in surprise.

"Miss Greengrass!"

"Good morning, professor," she glumly replied, not in the mood to chat.

"Merlin, why are you still here? Oh, my dear…" he said sadly when he saw the blood trickling down her back. "You have… erm, been to the Hospital Wing?"

"Yes professor. I was just about to shower and get some rest."

"Oh… yes, yes, you do that… you should not have been here, Miss Greengrass," he said sternly and Astoria was about to retort something nasty out of annoyance from hearing those words repeated so much. "But thank you for lending your wand," he bowed his head. "Goes to show how the Slytherins are not _all _bad," he glared at the Aurors, who slunk back. "You and Mr. Nott…"

"Where is he?" Astoria demanded.

"Upstairs. He seemed a little…"

"Depressed? Disturbed?" Astoria supplied as the teacher stammered and stuttered. She sighed in exasperation before heading up the stairs. "Have a good day, professor," she waved a hand over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"Any news?" Daphne demanded at the top of the stairs, causing Astoria to jump.

"Merlin, Daphne…"

"Any news?" she demanded again.

"Can I shower first? And I need help with the bandages…"

"Of course, of course," Daphne murmured before Astoria disappeared into the bathroom.

It was the best shower ever. All the blood and dirt swirled down the drain and Astoria scrubbed every inch of her body while surveying the damage. There were odd cuts and bruises from falling and from the wall exploding. There was a cut on her hip (courtesy of Parkinson), bruises on her ribs where she had been kicked, bruises on her neck where she was strangled… and then, of course, there was her back. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, as if it would make the night disappear, as if it never happened. It didn't work.

She turned off the water and dried off before sitting down with her back to her sister.

"Please tell me what you know."

"The Malfoys defected and may avoid Azkaban for now, but they will stand trial. Blaise did not defect and will go to Azkaban until his trial. Theo's in his room, probably drinking. Crabbe is dead. Goyle killed someone and will probably go to Azkaban. Pansy as well," she added at last, causing Daphne to sniffle.

"Well, that's just…" Daphne's voice trailed off, trying to find the right word. None of them could think of the proper adjective and the silence hung in the air as Daphne dabbed ointment on her wounds and wrapped a bandage around her back. "I'm really happy that you are alive, Tori. I thought… I saw your tie on the ground and I thought I lost you, and it was… it was absolutely _terrifying_."

"I know," Astoria hoarsely replied. "I am sorry."

"Can we… can we just go to bed and forget this happened?" Daphne asked and Astoria just gave a small smile as they settled down under the covers. But sleep never came and she knew that forgetting would probably never happen. Astoria tried a thousand ways to calm her mind. She counted winged horses, stretched her aching body, sang a song in her head, drank a glass of warm tea—sleep would not come to her, no matter how badly her body needed it.

At last she got up to check in on Theo. She walked downstairs and the Aurors were still gathered there. She eyed them oddly before going up the stairs to the boy's rooms.

"Oy, where are you going?" one hollered out.

"To check on a friend."

"You can't do that."

"And why not?" she asked sharply. "I do believe there is no law that Aurors can enforce that might prevent me from going up these steps, nor are you allowed to enforce school rules. It has been a long day, I am tired, I am injured, and I would like to see if my friend is alright. Now, may I proceed?" she barked at the Aurors and they murmured something about insolent youth and waved her away. She proceeded into the 7th year boys' room and found Theo passed out on his bed with a trashcan close to the mattress and an empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the nightstand. She sighed and rolled him over onto his side in case he got sick. She figured he would probably need water by morning (she was quite used to this, since she got to babysit Daphne after overindulgent summer nights), so she went to the bathroom across the wall to grab a cup for water. However, when she opened the door, she suddenly realized why the Aurors remained downstairs.

"Malfoy."

* * *

The Aurors escorted Draco back to the Slytherin common room. Slughorn sat there, wringing his hands, and could hardly make eye contact with the boy as he talked to the Aurors.

"Well, you may station yourselves downstairs. He is without a wand and Apparition is not possible in the castle. It is not as though he may go anywhere and he would do well not to, considering his full cooperation is the only thing preventing him from going to Azkaban," Slughorn talked as if Draco was not even there. "Besides, Mr. Nott is upstairs. He is a good boy. Yes, I know his father is—_was_—a Death Eater, but he never strayed wayward." Draco snorted. It was not like the sun shined from Theodore Nott's ass. "So, yes, Nott is up there as well and he a very clever, capable wizard. Should anything happen I am sure he will do the right thing. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, do head upstairs and rest for the remainder of the day. The Aurors will come to you if there is any news of… well, you know." His fate. Kingsley's deal. Azkaban. (Merlin, Blaise was on his way there right then…)

Draco nodded and glumly climbed the stairs. Theodore Nott had nearly polished off a bottle of Firewhiskey and was sprawled across his bed in a rather undignified fashion. His roommate nodded his head in acknowledgement before passing out. Draco sighed and scooted the trashcan a little closer to Nott's bed. He was quite used to babysitting Blaise on overindulgent nights. Nott would thank him in the morning.

Draco grabbed a clean set of clothes and went to the shower, where he stayed for hours. Other than the burns, he only had a few bruises and cuts, nothing like Greengrass, who was quite injured. It would probably scar, considering how low on supplies the Hospital Wing was. Her mother would be quite upset. Then again, her mother was dead. His mother was not. In fact, his parents were under close supervision and were to remain in the castle until the Aurors figured out what to do with them.

He let the scalding water wash over his body as he scrubbed himself clean. How he would like to forget that night, forget all the terrible things he saw, forget the past two years of his pathetic existence. All of his friends were dead or going to prison. All he had left was his mother and father, Nott, and the Greengrasses. Fuck. He was so desperate that he bothered to count the two green-eyed girls that had caused so much trouble and changed his seventh year at school so drastically.

At last, he shut off the water and dried himself off, pulling on his clean clothes. He was so fucking tired of everything, but knew he would find no sleep. It was nearly noon and had the entire day to languish away. He paced the room for awhile, attempted to read a book, tossed it across the room, went through Blaise's stuff, packed it up neatly, and let the trunk remain at the end of the bed. It looked decidedly lonely, so he packed up his trunk as well. Nott could fend for himself. Merlin, Draco thought he was going completely barmy until he had his first sane thought: he wanted to remove his Dark Mark.

Indeed, to most this would be a sign of insanity, but Draco thought of it with the most clarity he had in months. He did not want to be the Dark Lord's servant. He did not want to bear his Mark. Draco wanted nothing more than to just start over that he went over Theo's bed and attempted to take his wand. The bastard had applied a sticking spell to it so only its master could pick it up on the nightstand, so Draco went through Blaise's trunk to search for his razor blades. Blaise swore by the long, sharp blades and it was Draco's only other option. He chugged the last two gulps of Nott's Firewhiskey (actually, it was probably Blaise's Firewhiskey) and returned to the bathroom.

He sat for awhile, pondering how he would do it. He did not even know if removing the skin would remove the tattoo, or how deep he would have to go down, but he did not care. He wanted it gone. He had not felt so desperate for anything since he was trying to kill Dumbledore or fix the Vanishing Cabinet. There was a medical kit in the bathroom and Draco shuffled through it, looking for blood replenishing potion and a clotting potion. There were gauze and bandages as well, in addition to a pocketbook of simple healing spells. That would not be of any help. Draco positioned the blade on his left forearm and gulped.

Was this really the smart thing to do? No, it definitely was not and Draco knew it. He did not want to be a Death Eater forever. He thought he was doing the right thing at the time and that he would make his family proud, but now he felt shame when looking at the hideous tattoo. He wanted it gone, off, and he didn't care of the consequences. He just wanted to be fucking free from the life he had been coerced to.

He positioned the blade on his arm again and gently pressed. It stung and a line of scarlet appeared. Not bad. He adjusted the angle and dug into the skin further. This time, a few drops of blood slid down his arm. Fuck, it kind of hurt. Draco hissed and dug even further so that the top of the inked skull was covered in blood. He paused for a moment as his head swam.

"Malfoy," he heard a voice. It was not a question with a note of surprise, nor did it inquire after him. It was a statement, plain and simple, and the only person who could do such a thing at such a time would be Little Greengrass. Indeed, the voice belonged to her and when he looked up, all he saw was green for a moment. "What are you doing." Again, not a question.

"What does it look like?"

"I am really not in the mood to try and convince you to not kill yourself, Malfoy." The sad part was that she wasn't even kidding.

"Good thing I am not trying to kill myself," he snorted.

"Ace, because I would probably be of no help," she said, taking a glass off the sink. She fiddled with it for a moment before turning back to him. Why was she not completely freaking out? Why was she not screaming, calling for help, anything? "What are you doing, if you are not set on killing yourself?"

"Go back to your room, Greengrass," he said, quickly tiring of her nosiness. She was about to obey him when she suddenly paused.

"What is the score, Malfoy?" she asked.

"Pardon?" he questioned, confused.

"What is the score? Between you and I?" Draco finally understood and smirked.

"Four to two," he nodded. Astoria pursed her lips.

"If I help you with what I think you are doing, will we be even?" she asked carefully.

"What do you think I am doing?" Draco whispered with a coy smirk.

"I believe you are trying to remove your Dark Mark," she eyed him squarely. Draco lost his confidence suddenly and simply nodded his head, unable to find words. "Did you have a plan at all? You do realize that there are so many veins in that area—"

"Yes, I bloody well realize that, Greengrass," he snapped and she opened and closed her mouth. She looked tired. He was sure he looked the same.

"Before I help you, Malfoy, I need to know what the fourth favor you have on me is. Before, you would not tell me, but now, you have nothing to hide. So, I would like to know," she quietly demanded. Draco took a deep breath.

"He knew your name. The Dark Lord. He knew your name. The Carrows must have mentioned you to Him and your knack for 'efficiency,' as they put it. I told Him you were a liability, too young to be of any real use to The Cause," he said, unable to meet her gaze, which was penetrating him like knives.

"Why?" she breathed.

"I honestly have no idea why. I just did it Greengrass and so you owe me," he snapped.

"It seems that I do," she said calmly. Why was she so calm? He really wanted her to just start yelling at him in a typical Tiny Terror manner, but perhaps this was even more terrifying. "There is a spell I remember from home. My mother used it to peel potatoes," she said with a morbidly casual air. "Do you think that may be helpful?" she cocked her head. She was either mad or a genius, Draco couldn't decide. Instead, he stretched his arm out toward her.

"When you are ready," he finally met her gaze. She soundproofed the room and rummaged through the first aid kit, noting that he had already pulled out a few potions.

"Are you sure you want this Malfoy? It could fade on its own, you never know…"

"I am positive."

"You could bleed out."

"Greengrass…"

"I thought this war was over, Malfoy," she said softly and he was suddenly reminded by how young she was.

"Oh, Greengrass," he sighed. "A new one just began for us."

"We are not the same, Malfoy," she spat maliciously. "Do not forget that for a second."

"Oh yes, you are the good Saint Slytherin and I am Death Eater scum. Thank you for reminding me," he snarled.

"Do you want me to help you or not?"

"So, potato peelers?" he asked with a grimace. Little Greengrass mirrored his expression and nodded her head.

"This is probably going to hurt," she steadying her wand.

"Really, you think so?" Draco snarled sarcastically before he felt something dig into his skin. "Fuck!" he screamed. "That hurts!"

"Really, you think so?" she retorted sarcastically, the blood not even fazing her. "You need to stay still."

"Greengrass, I honestly do not think that is physically possible," Draco said quite seriously, his body already shaking from the pain.

"Then what do you suggest I do?"

"You know what to do, Greengrass," he settled himself on the bathroom floor, extending his arm out. She frowned before casting a sticking charm to keep his arms on the ground.

"I am thinking that the cutting is going to have to be quick so you do not lose too much blood. Then we can start getting it to clot and replenish your blood. Does that seem like an adequate plan?"

"Fine, Greengrass."

"I am going to ask one last time: are you sure—"

"_Yes, Greengrass,_ I am sure! Trust me."

"I would be a fool to do that," her eyes danced for a moment. "I do not trust you, Malfoy, nor do I know why you trust me."

"Well, that makes two of us, Greengrass," he sighed. "I want to get this over with."

She was right, of course. It hurt so fucking bad that he passed out a number of times. He woke up to blurry green eyes every time and a small hand gently tapping his face, urging him to stay awake and talking him through her next move. A magical blade cut through his skin as he screamed, but she remained unmoved, at least while he was conscious. At last, she was forcing potion down his throat and applying pressure to his bloody mess of an arm. The last thing he remembered was Little Astoria Greengrass leaning over him, gently pushing his hair off his forehead, her fingers gently dancing across his skin like the kiss of a butterfly. He could see all the different greens and greys in her eyes—ash, slate, silver, fern, moss, lime, jade, and emerald—and he could have counted the freckles on her nose and cheeks if she had stayed in his vision long enough. There was a smear of blood across her cheek as she studied him with concern. She was saying something—he couldn't make out the words—and then everything faded to black.

He woke up in the Hospital Wing later that evening and did not see her until his trial.

* * *

He was utterly delirious and loosing blood fast.

"Greengrass," he seemed to plead with her. "The detention records. All of our records. You need to have them. They are still under my mattress. You have to take them. You will know what to do with them."

"Alright, I will," she calmly assured him.

"No, you _have_ to, Greengrass," he insisted until she agreed to it.

She felt sick as she cast the spell and the magical blade slid across his flesh, causing him to scream in pain. He passed out so many times and the blood began to pool across the white bathroom floor. She began to panic. She was in over her head… why did she agree to this? Yet she was too far in now. If she left him, he would surely die and more than ever, his blood would be on her hands. She only had to make four long cuts along his arm to remove the Dark Mark, but he kept on passing out from pain and blood loss. His face grew more and more pale and she seriously considered going to get Madam Pomfrey a number of times. But instead, she continued to revive him and finished using the mundane spell in such a terrible way before she began wrapping up his arm.

The bandages soaked up the blood quickly, but the flow did not stop. Astoria kept pressure on the wound and forced some of the clotting potion down the Great Git's throat, but his blood continued to pool on the floor. His skin was cold to the touch and his lips began to turn blue as she begged him to stay awake, wiping back tears of frustration.

Time began to slow down and the room grew stiller and stiller.

"Please do not leave me," Malfoy quietly whispered as she applied pressure on his arm. It sounded so pathetic and yet so genuine that she found herself responding:

"I will not." She was covered in his blood and knew he was not going to make it much longer unless she did something drastic. He was so close to going into shock or just slipping off into death that Astoria pointed her wand at the wound and said, "_Incendio._" A flame burst from her wand, cauterizing his wound. Astoria wiped her forehead and studied her work. The blood had seemed to stop flowing and Astoria coaxed blood replenishing potion down his throat. Slowly, his color returned and Astoria took his arm in her hands, pressing on the wound and studying his face for any signs of improvement.

Draco Malfoy was certainly odd. Blaise Zabini was undeniably the best looking Slytherin in their year, but Astoria never quite understood why girls waxed poetics over Draco Malfoy. His skin was almost frightfully pale, he was not particularly muscular, and his grey eyes never held any warmth or emotion. Those eyes fluttered open for a moment and dazedly drank her in.

"Come on, Malfoy, just stay awake for a little longer," she said, her fingers gently pushing back a few strands of white blonde hair that were stuck to his forehead. He did not stay awake for long and his body shuddered and went limp again.

There was a sort of classical beauty about him, old French blood or something of the like: strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a piercing gaze. His lips, however, were much too inclined to form a rather displeasing sneer, and although Astoria had heard and seen the infamy of the Malfoy smirk, she found it more irritating than aesthetically pleasing. He was an odd sort of handsome, she supposed, although this was entirely ruined by his foul personality. Her reverie was ruined when the bathroom door swung open.

"Miss Greengrass!" Professor Slughorn cried in shock. Astoria realized how horrible it must have looked: she sat on the bathroom floor next to Malfoy's unconscious body, covered in his blood. She opened her mouth to explain but instead could find no words. She stared down at her hands, stained in his blood as Slughorn panicked. "What happened, Miss Greengrass? Did he take your wand? What happened, _what happened?_" he demanded of her as the Aurors began to gather around Malfoy, checking his pulse and then taking him away to the Hospital Wing. Meanwhile, Slughorn continued to yell and pace about the room, causing Astoria to slink away and curl up in a little ball.

She did not really know what was going on or how she was moved, but eventually she found herself sitting in Headmaster's office, which was currently being occupied by Professor McGonagall. Astoria picked at the blood dried under her nails and waited, not sure if she was in trouble. She had not managed to say a word to Slughorn and everyone kept on looking at her like she needed to be institutionalized. She was so deliriously tired that she merely watched all the knick-knacks in Dumbledore's office, softly smiling as they flit around the room, glimmering in the afternoon sunshine.

"Miss Greengrass?" she hear Professor McGonagall. Astoria turned to acknowledge the voice. "How are you, Miss Greengrass?" Astoria looked down at her hands and softly smirked. "You have had a long day, yes? You fought in a battle that you were too young to participate in, you have been involved in this war in countless ways that we know not of, and now this with Mr. Malfoy. I would like to know what happened so we can all go back to resting after these trying days," she concluded more sternly. Astoria was silent for a long moment. "Miss Greengrass?"

"How is he? Is he alright?" the question fell from her mouth, the words feeling foreign, like they were not hers. Frankly, she was surprised that she even cared.

"He has lost a lot of blood, but he will be fine," McGonagall said impatiently.

"Will it scar?"

"Yes, of course—"

"Will it scar over his Dark Mark?"

"Oh, I see," McGonagall whispered after a moment of contemplation. "Was that his wish?"

"He wanted it gone."

"Did he say why?"

"No."

"And did he try to take your wand or force you to help him?"

"No, it was a favor," Astoria said. The professor looked rather surprised.

"Why did you do it, Miss Greengrass?" McGonagall asked her sternly.

"To even the score," Astoria said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I do not understand, Miss Greengrass," the woman frowned.

"It is between Mr. Malfoy and I, an accord, if you will. And now we are even. We are no longer in each other's debt."

"Why were you in his debt in the first place? What has he done, Miss Greengrass?" the woman leaned forward eagerly.

"It is a private matter," Astoria said briskly.

"Mr. Malfoy will stand trial for some very serious crimes. If there is something to redeem him, Miss Greengrass, I ask you to tell me. Or tell someone. Or come forward with information at his trial."

"He tried to cut off his Dark Mark with a razor blade before I walked in," Astoria said softly, her voice tired. "He was desperate enough to get rid of it that he was prepared to die. Would not that redeem him quite sufficiently?"

"Miss Greengrass…" McGonagall began, suddenly studying Astoria with renewed interest. "I would be quite curious to know of the things you have seen in your House. But frankly, I do not know what to make of you," the woman added softly.

"May I please go shower, professor?" Astoria asked, fidgeting in her seat. Professor McGonagall sighed and the office door swung open. Astoria walked down the hallway and into her House, passing by the Aurors, who noticed her shirt covered in blood.

She heard Daphne screech when she walked into the bathroom and saw the blood stained clothes on the ground and had to explain to Daphne what passed in a vague, roundabout way. Her sister insisted that they get something to eat and that Astoria try to sleep before they went home.

"We cannot go home, Daphne."

"And why not?"

"There could be Death Eaters there. If Uncle Alastair and Victor have not come to get us yet, it means that either something has happened to them or it is not safe for them to leave. We need to wait a few days and then we can send over some Aurors to the Estate to clear the area for us." Daphne was hardly pleased with this but agreed.

Later that afternoon, sleep eluded her again. She went into the boys' room and pulled out the detention records from under Malfoy's bed. The hallways were deserted, everyone exhausted from the battle, and so it was easy for Astoria to sneak into Filch's office and take the remaining records from Amycus and Alecto's reign. Amycus had been captured and his trial was rapidly approaching, having committed many crimes against the students of Hogwarts. She stowed away the records before deciding to take a walk in the middle of the afternoon out on the grounds that were slightly less tainted by the battle.

Ginny Weasley was screaming at Harry Potter. She had always been a rather scary witch, but now she was sobbing and screaming that he had just left her, _left her_ and marched off to his death without even saying goodbye. And he had done it _twice._ Potter winced as she laid it on him and could not find words when she walked away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the tree by the lake. Astoria tried to walk by unnoticed.

"What are you looking at, Greengrass?" Weaselette snapped with weepy, bloodshot eyes before she stalked away. Potter turned to look at her and Astoria froze. There was a long, awkward pause.

"Your girlfriend is scary," Astoria finally said and in hindsight, it was probably not the best ice breaker. Then again, Astoria had never been too good at 'proper' small talk, much to her mother's dismay.

"She's not—erm, I know," Potter stammered.

"It is certainly quieter out here without her screaming," Astoria said plainly, and although it was a simple fact, Potter's mouth twitched for a moment. She stood there awkwardly until she realized that she was probably intruding. "That is why I came out here: the quiet. That is probably why you came out here, too," she awkwardly continued. "I will leave you," she nodded and began to walk off.

"Greengrass?" Potter said tentatively. "Erm, it's Greengrass, right?"

"Yes, Astoria," she supplied.

"Do you have a sister…?"

"Yes, Daphne. She is a seventh year Slytherin. I am in fifth year."

"Oh, _Astoria_," he said with more clarity. "Luna pointed you out."

"I like Luna," Astoria found herself saying. "She is…" Astoria trailed off, not finding the words to say.

"Yeah, I know," Potter said like he understood that Luna was rather difficult to describe. They fell into silence. "Are you waiting for your parents to pick you up?"

"No, they are dead."

"Erm, sorry," he said as if he genuinely felt responsible.

"It is not your fault, Potter," Astoria said bluntly and when the words came out of her mouth, the look in Potter's vibrant green eyes told her that what she said meant more than she had expected. "Do you mind me asking if you have any Greengrass blood in your line? I mean, you have the Greengrass eyes," Astoria trailed off, realizing that Potter looked really confused.

"No, erm, I mean, I'm not really sure. I don't really know much about my dad's extended family. Well, aren't all the Pureblood families sort of related?" he rubbed a scab on his arm.

"To a certain extent. Like most things in the world, it is complicated."

"I can see why Luna would like you," a smile tugged on his lips. Astoria tried to take it as a compliment. "But I have my mum's eyes. She was Muggleborn, so probably no connection."

It was only when he shrugged, sighed, and leaned back against the tree again that she realized that she was talking to the hero of the wizard world and he was the most normal, mundane person she had ever met. It was rather anti-climatic, to be honest.

"So why are you still at the castle?" he asked.

"I am not sure if it is safe to return back to the Greengrass Estate yet. My uncle—he is the black sheep of the family—has been hiding out in it for the past few months, so there could easily still be Death Eaters lurking about," Astoria spat. Suddenly, Potter seemed to realize that like him, she was covered in odd scratches and bruises and had the same hollow green eyes…

"You fought, didn't you?" he asked with a sad edge in his voice.

"I did," Astoria said, not knowing what else to say that Potter did not already know. "Do you know when Colin's funeral will be?" Once again, probably not the best thing to say because Potter's shoulders sagged. He seemed rather tired.

"I—I don't know. Why do you ask?" he inquired and Astoria turned away, not deigning to answer the question.

"There are still many repairs to do around the castle. I am rather adept with wandwork and it seems that having capable people on hand can only do good," Astoria said.

"You _are_ a Slytherin, aren't you?" Potter snorted.

"Of course I am," she snorted as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What did you think I was, a Hufflepuff?" she added with derision.

"No," Potter said, not finding her comment as funny as she thought it was. "You're just an odd Slytherin."

"How so?" Astoria asked defensively.

"I mean, you fought for _us_."

"I made a choice that was best for my family and me," Astoria sternly corrected him. "And I was peeved that the Carrows thought they had the authority to control me and the rest of the House of Greengrass."

"You _still_ fought for us."

"I fought against the Carrows," Astoria explained with a tone of exasperation. "Perhaps you Gryffindors do not recognize the significance of this disparity."

"Maybe you are more of a Slytherin than I thought," Potter said, looking at her suspiciously.

"And what do you know of Slytherins, Potter?" Astoria sneered. Something in Potter's face changed and he sighed heavily.

"You're right," he conceded. "I guess I don't know much."

Astoria thought of Tracey Davis, who was the bravest Slytherin she had ever met, who had ducked her head down the entire year only to stand and fight and fall. She thought of Vincent Crabbe, whose body would never be recovered. She thought of Gregory Goyle, without his best mate and locked away for life. She thought of Millicent Bullstrode, who never really fit in with the Slytherin girls in the first place and whose family was sure to stand trial. She thought of her sister, who really was not cut out for these dark times, who held Astoria when no one else could. She thought of Theodore Nott, who seemed to die along with Davis, who had protected Astoria and guided her through the year, only to lead her into battle and kill for her. She thought of Severus Snape, who had been Dumbledore's man all along. She thought of Blaise Zabini, who did the right thing for the wrong reason. She thought of Pansy Parkinson, who thought she was doing the right thing for what she thought was a good reason. Astoria thought of Draco Malfoy who did the wrong thing for the right reason. She thought of the determination in his gaze as he pressed the razor blade into his skin, she thought of his unnerving grey eyes as he asked her not to leave, and she thought of his crisp white shirt soaking up the blood oozing from his arm...

"Of course you do not know much of the Slytherins. No one cares what happens to the other side."

"But you _weren't_ on the other side," Potter insisted, rather puzzled.

"Nothing is black and white, Potter. Professor Snape could certainly attest to that." Potter seemed lost in his own thoughts for awhile and Astoria sighed. "If the world knew of the things we did, the things we almost did, the things we regretted doing, and the things that gave us joy, perhaps life would be different for us."

"Then why don't you tell the story of the other side?" he asked. Astoria took one last look at Potter as she stood up. He was lanky, with dark, messy hair, a pinched face, and bags under vibrant eyes. His glasses were askew, he had not shaved in a few days, and his body was covered in an assortment of burns, scratches, and bruises. His lightning bolt scar on his forehead marked him as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Died, and the Boy-Who-Returned. He was eighteen years old and he had saved them all and he looked exhausted.

"You should probably get some sleep." He snorted.

"I've tried. I _can't_. I mean, erm, that's why you're out here, right?" he scratched at a different scab, causing the wound to reopen. Astoria shrugged and looked across the lake. "You never answered my question," he probed her with his green eyes, his mother's eyes. With her similar eyes, dark hair, and slight, lanky frame, they could have passed as siblings. "Why don't you tell the Slytherins' story?"

"For many reasons. First, because we are not Gryffindors for a reason and lack a certain amount of bravery to confess our actions. Second, because now is not the time when people will listen to us or believe anything we say. And third… because we are positively terrified that the rest of the world may actually _like_ us. Then we would have to consort with them and they would be set on a mission to save us, to redeem us. And we need no such thing. In case you have not heard, Slytherins are rather practiced in self-preservation," she coyly smiled before walking away.

"Astoria! Erm, Greengrass!" Potter called after her. "Did you hear anything about Malfoy cutting off his Dark Mark?" She looked at him blankly.

"I have heard no such rumor," Astoria smoothly replied before walking away.

Minutes later when she had returned to the castle and was looking into one of the mirrors in the loo, she connected the dots. She remembered the way that Snape would always call her name right before she would exit his office. She would turn around and his eyes would be fixed on her, searching for something that he thought was there—almost, but not quite. He was looking into her eyes and searching for Lily Potter. He was looking into her eyes, seaking out the love of his life and finding only a scared fifteen year old. Then, he would look away, sad and disappointed. Just as Snape had kept Potter around as a last symbol of his lost love, he had given Astoria the benefit of the doubt because she was the next closest match to the emerald green eyes of Lily Potter.

Perhaps one day in the future, Astoria thought it would be good to go to the old Potion Master's grave. She would leave him lilies and maybe, if she could find the proper words, she would thank him. Some wounds, she would later realize, took a rather long time to heal.

Over the past two days, parents had come flooding in to Hogsmeade to collect their children. These reunions were always joyful and tearful, and could not look on without feeling rather jealous. She managed to sleep a little bit that night and when she woke, she quietly went through her school papers from the past two years, organizing in neat piles the essays that she never turned in and the assignments she only completed three-fourths of. It would prove that she had deserved to have full marks in her classes instead of the barely passing marks she received. She walked through the classrooms, delivering the stacks of papers on her teachers' desks before walking over to the Great Hall and surveying the damage. It was sad to see the windows shattered, holes blasted through the walls, blood splattered on the ceiling and smeared across the floor. Astoria had to close her eyes as her head swam—so many people had died not even twenty-four hours before…

Granger was desperately trying to light candles and levitate them up to the ceiling one-by-one, wiping away the occasional tear on her cheek. Astoria was about to pass, but then realized that she could help.

"May I?" she asked, causing the Gryffindor to look up from her work in shock.

"Yes, please," the girl blubbered. "I am just so tired of it being dark in here. I wish it was like before, always light and happy…"

"It has not been that way in a year," Astoria said plainly as she situated all the candles upright and sent a powerful _Incendio _spell across the wicks, lighting them all in one swoop. She focused and levitated the entire group of candles up in the air as students began to watch the room fill with a warm light. As they reached the ceiling, Astoria switched spells and had the candles spread out so that the light extended in all corners. Granger continued to cry, but now she was smiling, and Astoria quietly slipped out of the room.

"That was lovely, Tori," Daphne said, admiring her sister's work from afar. Astoria shrugged and sat on the window sill that Alecto threw her through. She had taken a morbid liking to the little nook.

In the distance, she could see two people holding hands being escorted by Hagrid. Astoria watched the figures in the distance before she broke out into a run, seeing a familiar fedora. She threw herself into her Uncle Alastair's arms, feeling tears prickle in her eyes.

"It's okay, it's okay," he assured her. "We're going to take you home."

It was the most beautiful thing Astoria had heard in a long time and could not help but smile. _Home._ She rapidly packed her trunks and walked to Hogsmeade with Alastair and Victor, all quiet and unsure what to say, but Astoria was pleased with the silence as they walked along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The thestrals poked their heads out and observed Astoria for a moment. Uncle Alastair followed her gaze, studying her for a moment, and rubbed his brow.

"They will be there when you return, Tori," he said quietly. He saw them as well.

"I know, I just…" Astoria lost her train of thought and instead thought of home. "_Expecto Patronum._" A thestral burst from the tip of her wand and floated around Astoria, fluttering his wings.

"_They are creatures that prefer to stay in the dark, even though they are quite nice_," Luna had told her once of the thestrals. She continued to smile at this thought until Hogsmeade disappeared and was replaced by rolling green hills. She was _home_.

That summer, many changes would take place. She would spend too much time in courtrooms, have a number of unpleasant meetings with Malfoy, pass afternoons wandering the moors with Theo, and learn a little spontaneity. She would fly, she would read, and she would take exams. She would have nightmares and dreams. It was a summer of healing, of change, of the birthing of a new society where blood did not matter. But looking at the estate, Astoria knew this all could wait until she had gotten some sleep. So when she arrived into the house and slipped under her covers, she closed her eyes and did not open them for twenty hours, at last able to have an easy, dreamless sleep before taking on the world once again.


	20. Chapter 16: Summer Setbacks

_Author's Note: Well, this is awkward. It's been a month since I last updated. You all know how life gets. Add midterms in a foreign language and an apparent iron deficiency, and I hope that explains sufficiently why it's taken me a long time to update. Don't worry, I haven't given up on this story in the slightest! So, please stick around and review. And thanks to everyone who has been reviewing the previous chapters- you all rock and the Goyle/Crabbe mix-up from last chapter has been fixed, thanks for pointing it out. Anyway, this chapter is almost twice the size of a normal chapter, so that's my little way of saying, "Sorry, my bad." Enjoy!_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 16: Summer Setbacks_

Apparently, shit had gone down at the Greengrass Manor.

Astoria's uncle, Alastair Greengrass, and his partner, Victor Noveum, were silent as they trudged up the hill to the house, magically whisking the girls' trunks behind them. Astoria noticed the scorch marks and gaping caverns where the land had split on the grass. It would take only a few days for vibrant yellow flowers to grow in these places followed by smooth green grass, but the damage had been done.

"What happened?" Daphne breathed.

"Death Eaters," Alastair concisely explained. "But the house is fine. We are fine." His voice was so firm that Astoria knew he was overcompensating for the fact that the last sentence really was punctuated with a tentative question mark. The two men did look a little worse for wear, tired and anxious from the conclusion of the war.

"They had been lurking around the property for weeks and when the news of the Gringotts break-in came out, they made their move. But Alastair was right—the land is quite hostile to intruders," he seemed to falter for a moment before continuing. "There were a few stragglers after it was announced that Voldemort was killed and we had to be _sure_, because if it wasn't safe…" Once again, he trailed off, shook his head, and forced out the next sentence. "We were not going to get you until we knew it was safe." Daphne nodded her head in appreciation, knowing that it would bring relief to the former Gryffindor. Alastair, however, was as stoic as ever.

It was odd to walk into the house. It was the first time they had laid feet in it since their parent's death and it felt like dementors had come in and sucked out the soul of the place—something was undeniably missing, yet everything stood still, unchanged, as if nothing had happened, as if they never left… Astoria was filled with an immense sense of weariness and felt tears prickle her eyes. She was _home, _home after all the horrors and sleepless nights, the screams that seeped from the dungeons, the blood and the empty stares that looked at nothing into eternity…

She did not even manage to get under the covers in her bed, simply depositing her trunk in the doorway and leaving her shoes kicked across the room. She buried her head in her pillow, drowning herself in the comfortable scent of the linen. As she was drifting off to sleep, Alastair came in and dropped a blanket across her shoulders.

She was awakened some time later to change the bandages on her back. Dittany from the family's medical kit was liberally applied in hopes that the wounds would not scar. She vaguely remembered sitting on the edge of her bed and looking out the window as Daphne sat behind her and dabbed on the cream with butterfly touches. She remembered a choked sob behind her in the doorway and she remembered the scent of her uncle lingering in the room for a few minutes afterward. A glorious 20 hours later she awoke and dragged herself downstairs for food; she was greeted by an enthusiastic Dop, who managed to whip out a chicken pot pie from seemingly nowhere and presented it to Astoria with a proud grin.

"We were wondering when you would wake up," said a voice from the doorway. Alastair Greengrass slipped into the room with all of the elegance of his lineage, that sort of easy grace that Daphne embodied while Astoria made look mechanical. Astoria looked at her uncle, unsure what to say before turning back to her pot pie, which was making her even sleepier. He, in turn, opened and closed his mouth before picking up the newspaper. "They caught Amycus Carrow. Trials begin in a week. His case will be one of the first, as will the Malfoys. The Wizengamot has called you as a witness in the younger Malfoy's trial." He sat down. "Daphne told us what you did for him." There was no judgment in his voice: it was but a fact. Astoria popped another bite of the creamy pot pie in her mouth, causing Alastair to sigh and stand up. "I cannot be your father, Astoria." She had no idea what he meant until Victor explained.

"You and your uncle entirely lack communication skills. I thought it was a family trait until I met your sister, but she apparently takes after your mother, who only is a Greengrass by marriage, so perhaps it _is_ a family trait. Either way, it wouldn't hurt to throw him a rope because he does not know what questions he should be asking or how to respond. So instead, he is silent and that does nothing to sort everything out."

"I was unaware things had to be 'sorted,'" Astoria casually quipped.

"Merlin, Astoria, you are sixteen years old and you have seen things that no adult should ever see. If that is not something that needs sorting, I don't know what is," Victor said strongly and coaxingly at the same time.

Daphne, however, was a case study of pure frenzy. In the 20 hours that Astoria had been asleep, Daphne had managed to clean the house from top to bottom (with the help of Dop, of course) and had begun sketching out her plans for reorganizing and redecorating the house. Astoria did not have the nerve to ask if Daphne had been in the master bedroom yet, but she had a feeling that Daphne had not been able to make it into their parents' room. This premonition was confirmed a few days later when she heard muffled sobs in the hallways.

"Daphne…" Astoria simply sighed, unsure what this all was about.

"I… I can still smell her perfume," Daphne choked. It was true. The house was rather drafty on that May day and the smell of their mother's distinctly expensive perfume had begun to waft through the hallway. The woman had not even been in the house since August and the perfume was clearly of the stubborn variety that lingered. With a jolt of courage, Astoria threw open the doors to the master bedroom.

Inside, all was still, almost hauntingly so. The heavy curtains swayed ever so slightly from the draft pushing down the hall. Nothing was dusty, as Dop had tended to it, and everything was in its place. Once again, Dop was to thank, considering their parents had left in a bit of a hurry and being a dutiful House Elf, he picked up, expecting them to come back. After all, all those years later he still kept up Alastair's room. Astoria sighed: except this time, the masters had not come back, nor would they ever.

She remembered being reprimanded here, standing with a ramrod straight back and her mind still buried in a book as her mother lectured her. She remembered also sitting on the bed and watching her mother get ready for a ball, neatly pinning up each beautiful blonde curl and slowly applying scarlet red lipstick. On nights like that, Astoria and Daphne would be quiet and just watch until Mother called them over and laughingly gave them all scarlet lips. She remembered also tapping her father's shoulder when she had nightmares that prevented her from falling asleep again and he would pat the mattress to gesture her to climb up.

Daphne gathered her nerves and opened her mother's armoire, her fingers gently brushing across the fine ball gowns. Astoria went to her father's winter clothes drawer and pulled out a forest green jumper; she held it up to her nose, pleased to find that musky smell of old books, good scotch, and fine cigars. Daphne had made it to her mother's jewelry, her eyes shining like the jewels in the velvet covered box.

"What are you going to do with this all, Astoria?"

"Why?"

"Well, technically it's _yours_. All of it," Daphne said carefully. It struck Astoria as an odd thought, even if it was entirely true.

"It is _ours,_" Astoria corrected her sister. "We may do as _we_ please."

"Not storage," Daphne swallowed hard. "Anything but storage." Astoria shrugged, as if to say that was fine with her. "It would be a shame to just let it go to waste…" and then with shaking hands she clasped on one of her mother's necklaces and walked out the room, leaving Astoria clutching the forest green jumper. Cautiously, she pulled it over her head and looked at her reflection, only to see a bony girl with thinning hair and dull green eyes. She had not heard from Theo at all; he had retreated to Nott Heights, the hardy stone fortress up on the moors in Yorkshire, probably to bury himself in the renowned Nott library and drown himself in his father's Firewhiskey.

Then there was the letter she had been carrying around in her pocket all day, saying that she had until June 1st to organize her family's finances before they would be subject to investigation. All families with suspected connections to Death Eaters were having their homes and bank accounts scoured, but word of Astoria's participation in the battle had given the Greengrass family a bit of leeway. So, she had a month to uncover generations of family secrets and make sure that their names would be cleared. Before, all she had done in the few days she was home was sleep and eat, but now the repercussions of her choices were beginning to set in.

Wars, she knew, never ended on specific dates like history books said; the truth was that there were always little skirmishes afterward and Astoria anticipated plenty—she just wished she had a little more time to breathe, a little more time to mourn, a few moments to allow herself to cry, or a few moments to laugh and feel like she was sixteen and young in the ways of the world. But no. The wizarding world could not wait for justice.

So, Astoria reached into her school trunks, made a copy of the detention records overseen by Amycus Carrow, erased the names of the students who had participated in these 'supplementary lessons,' and mailed them to the Wizengamot as evidence against the former Dart Arts teacher. She felt a little better afterward and so at dinner, she worked up the courage to lay the letter regarding their finances on the table.

"We'll take care of it," Daphne announced firmly, placing her hand over Astoria's. "Together." Uncle Alastair reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of old brass keys.

"Then I suppose you will be needing these."

* * *

"Greengrass…?" the name was on his lips when he woke up, which made him feel even more sick.

"Oh, you are awake," came his father's drawl. "Your mother will be pleased." He, however, did not sound pleased at all. Draco found his father's grey eyes—they were hard and cold and so Merlin-damn bitter. "She has only been worrying herself sick for the past 48 hours over your foolish and rash decision to… to…" Lucius Malfoy trailed off. The Malfoys were not ones to speak in clichés, so Draco knew positively that his mother had grown sick from her anxiety. "You could have _died,_ Draco, and what good would that have done? Did you stop and think about how it would affect your mother? Did you think about the Malfoy name? Did you think about…?" his voice trailed off again and Draco saw a flicker of internal struggle in his father's eyes. Had he been more of a man, a better father, perhaps Lucius Malfoy would have asked his son if he had thought about him, his father who loved him, at all. But Lucius Malfoy was not a very good man and not a very good father and did not. Luckily, his mother strode in and saw his open grey eyes and picked up her pace to seat herself at his side.

"Draco…" she whispered, as if she couldn't believe that he was alive.

"Mother," he managed to choke and he felt like he was going to cry because he could have died and the last thing he would have seen was Little Greengrass's eyes. (Years later, he would think it wouldn't have been a bad way to go.)

Madam Pomfrey came over and starting going on and on about how the damage was terrible, but that she had saved him out of the kindness of her heart and repaired all the nervous, muscular, and tissue damage, but there was no replacing the burned skin and it would remain mottled and scared forever.

"A shame, yes, but it was a smart move on Miss Greengrass's part. I do believe that she saved your life by cauterizing the wound," the nurse explained.

"But the Mark…?" Draco tentatively asked.

"As far as I can tell, it is gone," Madam Pomfrey shrugged.

"Quite a surprise to us," came a voice from the doorway. There stood Professor McGonagall, looking stern as ever. "Although I have a feeling if this event would have been related to Albus, he would have said that there are very few things that can counter or eradicate Dark Magic, but perhaps honest intentions can. How are you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Well, professor," he ground through his teeth because the woman gave him hell for the past seven years of his life.

"Good. You will be released tomorrow noon, pending your health. The Auror department has decided to move you to a safe house until your trials, which will most likely be in the coming week," the professor continued.

"That sounds perfectly adequate," came his mother's even reply, although Draco was practically leaping with the thought of avoiding Azkaban (for now).

"During that time you will give the Aurors your depositions… at length," McGonagall added sternly. "Especially you, Draco, because your health has prevented you from doing so." His parents had already talked to the Aurors. He had no idea what had been revealed, what was still a secret, if there were things he was still to keep secret that he did not know about, or if he really was to tell absolutely _everything_… "And in case you were wondering, Miss Greengrass just arrived safe and sound with her uncle and sister at the Greengrass Estate."

"I was not wondering, professor," came Draco's cold reply, causing the woman to slowly raise her brows.

"I thought I should mention it, in case you wanted to thank her for saving your life," was McGonagall's bristling reply. His mother snorted, apparently convinced that Little Greengrass had almost killed him. Which was sort of true. (And also sort of _not_.) "Do get some rest," she added rather reluctantly and swept out of the room.

"Well," the Nurse began after a sufficiently awkward pause. "Time to change your bandages."

_Damn._

* * *

Astoria loved puzzles. She always had. But not this one. The brass keys remained tucked in her bedside table. She wasn't ready for the secrets they would reveal. She vaguely knew what the keys would lead her to: old documents, undisclosed finances, hundreds of years of covert family doings. She had enough on her mind. The brass keys could wait.

It had been a week since the end of the battle. The cuts on Astoria's body had scabbed over and healed, giving way to new pink skin. The bruises were only a faint yellow color, fading from their black and blue to a pale purple and then green. She continued to sleep deeply and eat heartily. One day in the kitchen, Astoria overheard her uncle whispering that he was concerned about her unperturbed ways.

"Everyone grieves differently, Alastair," Victor quietly responded. "And perhaps a little quiet would do her good. We still have no idea what she has seen, what she has done…"

Regardless, she was pardoned. The newspaper decreed the Hogwarts Pardon, which gave amnesty to all the students who were coerced into hurting other students under the Carrow's tutelage. However, those who had fought in the battle on the Dark Lord's side had lost their reprieve: this meant Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, and Blaise Zabini would be responsible for their actions as Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, it seemed, was the wild card because he had defected.

Such tranquility—days of pouring over books, staring absentmindedly at the brass keys, walking barefoot across the grounds, having tea and debating philosophy with her uncle, ensuring Daphne that the lamp and the rug did seem to match and no, she could not tell the difference between "chamomile" and "butter yellow"—was short lived as the funerals for the deceased were held. They were printed in the newspaper and Astoria could not ignore the pictures of the young, smiling faces of the dead.

She always stayed in the background. She watched as Seamus Finnigan threw a clump of dirt over Lavender Brown's grave, his strong jaw clenched in fury and misery as he looked strangely somber in his dress robes. She silently bowed her head as Remus Lupin and his wife, whose name she discovered was Nymphadora Tonks—the Great Git's own cousin—were lowered to the ground. She saw their child, a Metamorphmagus who changed his appearance at least a dozen times throughout the service, held by an older woman. She saw Potter, but Potter did not see her, overcome by his own grief. Fred Weasley's funeral was almost the worst. His twin looked terribly lost and grief-stricken, as if half of his soul had been ripped from his body. His funeral gathered the largest crowd and it was a motley crew, from his ginger family, to his friends, schoolmates, and people who simply knew him for being the most infamous jokester to parade the hallways of Hogwarts.

However, the two hardest funerals were that of Colin Creevey and Tracey Davis.

Colin Creevey was only a year older than Astoria when he asphyxiated to death in front of her eyes after engaging in a duel with a Death Eater. His brother, Dennis, was at the funeral, looking very much like George Weasley did at Fred's funeral—like half of his soul had been taken from him. Theodore Nott showed up; Astoria had not seen him since the battle and he looked like hell when she noticed him at her side.

"You have not responded to my letters."

"I have been busy," he responded enigmatically. She could smell the Firewhiskey on his breath. There were a thousand thoughts on her mind, but she could not find the words to express one. "We should sit."

"We should not be here," Astoria suddenly panicked. She couldn't do this; she couldn't face—

"Yes, we should. Sit," Theo added firmly. Her hands shook. She did not remember most of what was said other than that Colin was too young to die and that he was so brave. People began to move forward to give Dennis Creevey their condolences and Theo nudged her. "Go," was all he said, crossing his arms and slipping on a pair of sunglasses. It was an obnoxiously sunny day and he was handling his hangover remarkable well. Astoria felt her stomach churn as she rose, still unsure what she would say.

However, she knew that something needed to be said. If it was her—if it was her sibling dead—she would want something to be said. She would want to know.

"Hello, Dennis," she said awkwardly. He was busy studying his feet, numb to everyone's words. "You probably do not know me." He looked up with red-rimmed eyes. He looked so much like his brother—a sort of mousy face and lanky built, sandy-brown hair, and light brown eyes… hollow eyes that echoed an abysmal loss. "My name is Astoria Greengrass. I… I fought in the battle next to your brother." Dennis Creevey continued to study her as she slowly found the words to say; he nodded stiffly. "I was there when he… when he…" she felt a lump built up in her throat and she stopped, unable to say anymore.

"Walk with me," he said with quiet authority, an air of forced maturity due to the unfortunate circumstances. Astoria nodded her head and lowered her eyes, striding off with the Gryffindor. They passed by Theo and with his sunglasses on, Astoria could not read his expression. For all she could have known, he was sleeping. Dennis and Astoria continued walking, the funeral party growing smaller behind them. They were quiet for a few minutes until Dennis spoke:

"Colin tried to go back to Hogwarts, but they wouldn't let him. We're Muggle-born. But we're also wizards and Colin was a great wizard—always the person I looked up to. He couldn't lie low this year. He tried—for me and my parents, he tried, but he couldn't sit back and let this magical world be taken away from us. You see, he _had_ to fight," he met her gaze, suddenly. It was a strong and proud gaze; Astoria had to stop and remind herself that he was a year younger than her, and it made her feel… _pity_ for him. She wondered if people looked at her and felt the same way.

"He refused to report himself as a Muggleborn. He just took his wand and made a dash for it. I… I couldn't. I was never as brave as him," he breathed haggardly. "Colin was always running into trouble with the Snatchers and then when he heard about the Gringotts break-in, he had to go back to Hogwarts. McGonagall made him leave, but he couldn't… he couldn't just _leave_ and not fight. So, he went back," Dennis concluded. There was a long pause before he croaked, "What _happened?_"

"I went back as well," she began slowly. It was the first time she had talked about it and it was terrifying—she tried to pretend like it was all one bad dream, but talking about it made it real. Talking about it made everything come back to her… but _no,_ this was not about her. It was about Colin. It was about Dennis. "I went back with Theodore Nott. We tried to find a safe way into the castle and hid behind a stone wall when your brother—Colin—came upon us," she struggled to say his name. "Theodore and I were invisible at the time, but he discovered us and upon realizing that we were all fighting on the same side, we decided to get into the castle together. We were running…" she trailed off and forced herself to take a deep breath. It felt like all they did was run that night. She remembered her feet pounding the stone, leaping over bodies, skidding around corners… "But then there was a Death Eater. We all Stunned him, but then our cover was blown," her mind began to whirl. Images of that night began to bombard her brain and she felt her heart beat rapidly in her chest.

Dennis continued to look at her fixedly. There were heavy bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept for weeks. He gave her a curt nod. Astoria blinked back tears of frustration.

"I… I am unsure if there are words to describe what it was like to be there…"

"Tell me," he said, probably more sharply than he meant to because he checked himself for a moment. "Please," he added more carefully, grinding his teeth. "I'm sorry," he suddenly apologized, blinking back tears as he bit his lip angrily and studied his shoes. "You… we all have… it's been difficult…" he croaked. Astoria could not look at him as they walked mechanically, but grabbed his arm for a moment, unsure how else to make him stop talking.

"Colin was behind us," she continued. "There were duels on all sides of us and all we wanted to do was get to the castle. But I turned around and suddenly, Colin was not there anymore. He had engaged with a Death Eater and next thing I knew, a spell hit him in the chest and he fell," the words tumbled from Astoria's mouth like a confession. "I went to him and he was alive but he kept saying, 'I can't feel my legs,' over and over and over again and then I knew." Astoria paused here. "Did… did you hear about the Carrows?"

"Yes, some," Dennis nodded, his face already pale.

"I had to… do some things I am not proud of this year, but I was caught in a difficult position, you see. I learned a lot of things, a lot of spells: gruesome spells, the kinds that keep you up at night, wondering what kind of madman—or woman—came up with that magic. The Carrows explained one day about a spell that paralyzes the body, eventually stopping the heart or the muscles that enable breathing. I knew… I knew that Colin had about a minute or two to live. And I told him. I looked him in the eye and told him he was going to die."

…"_I can't feel my arms at all. I can't feel my torso… Greengrass…"_

"_Astoria," she said, looking him directly into his wide brown eyes._

"_Astoria__, help me__," he began to cry…_

"And there was nothing I could do. Nothing except sit with him. And he told me…" Astoria wiped a tear from her cheek. "He told me to tell you that fairy tales were more than true. He said you would understand and that he loved you and… he could not speak after that."

…_Colin Creevey died a slow death, his chest rising and falling a little less every time. Then, his chest stopped rising all together and Astoria muffled a sob, still feeling his pulse..._

"Eventually, his breathing muscles gave out, but his heart kept beating," she choked back a sob.

…_The beats grew slower and slower until she put her head against his chest, right over his heart, and heard a deep, unbearable silence…_

"And fighting until the end, he passed."

They continued to walk as if their lives depended upon it, covering the ground with shaky steps until they reached a lonely tree. Dennis stopped, leaned against the trunk, and bitterly wept, his body shaking from his sobs. Astoria had little idea what to do and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. He instantly grabbed her wrist and gripped it tightly as he continued to cry angry tears. After a few minutes, his breathing grew even and his tears slowed. He wiped them away and straightened himself up, before turning to Astoria, gesturing that they should walk back.

" 'Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.' G.K. Chesterton… a Muggle writer," Dennis explained. "Colin used to tell me this all the time when I was having a bad day, before we even knew that dragons really do exist," he said, a small smile flitting across his face. "But he was right. He said that people would realize that… that Voldemort was wrong and that he had to be stopped… that people were just scared, but it only took one person to stand up and make a difference. And that was the way to beat dragons."

"He sounds like he was a really good brother," Astoria offered.

"He was. He was my best friend, my older brother, my role model. My parents don't know what to do with themselves… it's hard for them to understand the war, let alone why their oldest son is dead… they don't even want me to go back to Hogwarts… but I'm going to," he rambled. "I _have _to. Colin would have wanted me to," he weakly smiled. "Are you going back?"

"I honestly have not thought about it," Astoria began, realizing that she had been trying to repress all thoughts of Hogwarts. "But I probably will. I need to finish my education." They were quiet for a moment. "I cannot pretend to understand what you are feeling right now, but I _am_ sorry for your loss," Astoria said, trying to muster the proper amount of feeling in her voice.

"But you _do_ understand," Dennis looked at her squarely. "You lost people. I can just tell," he shrugged. Astoria bit her lip and curtly nodded. She was not granted the opportunity to properly mourn the death of her parents. There was no funeral. There were no remains. She had a letter from Gringotts—that was it. Their legs made their way back to the funeral party, where Dennis waved toward a meek couple (probably his parents) before turning to face Astoria.

"Thanks… for telling the truth. The whole truth. It's hard, but it makes things easier, you know?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and finally looking like he was actually fifteen.

"You are welcome, Dennis," she held out a hand but he pulled her into a hug. Gryffindors were quite odd, but Astoria held the boy for a bit, figuring he probably needed it. She offered a smile and walked back to Theo, who looked like he had not moved a muscle while she was gone.

"You ready?" he asked and Astoria nodded. He hauled himself up and they walked off together. "Is your afternoon free?" She nodded once again. "Walk with me on the moors?" he asked. "I…" He could not finish the sentence, but Astoria figured that it was probably something that they, as cold-blooded Slytherins, were conditioned to never dare to say: things like "I am lonely," "I feel weak," "I miss you," "I need you here with me." It was good that she understood and she looped her arm through his.

"To the Heights."

* * *

"Please state your full name."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Wand? No, you don't have one. Birthday and age, then."

"June 5, 1980. Currently 17, to turn 18 in the coming month."

"Mr. Malfoy, are you aware of your rights and do you consent to the following deposition, knowing all information can be used against you in the Wizengamot court?"

"I understand."

"We shall then proceed," nodded the Auror, who announced that he was to be referred to as _Smith_. It felt all quite anonymous. Then again, everything was anonymous and secretive. After he had been released from the hospital, his family had been whisked away to a safe house in Merlin-knows-where, guarded 24/7 by Aurors, and was under constant scrutiny. Meanwhile, other Aurors were scouring the Malfoy Manor for evidence against his family and also for Dark Objects. It was May 6th—his trial would take place on the 10th, following his mother's, father's, and Amycus Carrow's trial. On the 15th, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson would take the stand.

"Nearly all of the 7th year Slytherins," one Auror remarked.

"No, not all. All the charges of the Bullstrode girl have been dropped."

"Well, that's just because of the Hogwarts Pardon. Lucky bastards. Kingsley's off his rocker for letting those students get off easy. You heard what they did, didn't you?"

"Kingsley has bigger fish to fry. Besides, those kids didn't have much of a choice."

"They were hardly kids—all of them of age, seventeen. And they had a choice; they just made the wrong one."

"It's probably more complicated than that. I mean, you heard about the Greengrass girl: fifteen, sixteen years old and… _involved_, but then fought on our side in the end. And the Nott kid: father a big-time Death Eater and also fought on our side. He killed Alecto Carrow, you know. And the Davis girl, half-blood… but she didn't make it."

"Shame. Her funeral is in a few days."

"I'm just saying: the Hogwarts Pardon isn't a bad idea. I mean, a lot of the kids were only roped into the Carrows' business because of their family name, not necessarily their ideals. They have it bad enough: they are the scum of the wizard world and most of their families are in Azkaban, their fortunes are going down the drain along with their surname—a clean slate may do them some good."

"They used _Unforgivables._ How does one pardon an _Unforgivable_? I mean, it's called that for a reason."

Draco did not hear the response to that question, but he figured there was no good answer. Certainly if _he_ knew the answer, his life would be a hell of a lot easier.

"Mr. Malfoy? I asked a question."

"My apologies, sir. My mind was elsewhere," Draco smoothly replied without the least bit remorse in his voice. He was used to saying pretty words with little meaning.

"In your second year of Hogwarts, your father had a book of great value to Voldemort (Draco flinched) that ended up in the hands of Miss Genevra Weasley. Could you please elaborate on this?" Draco arched a brow at the question and folded his hands.

"I mean no disrespect, but if you have been in my library, _sir_, you will notice that my family owns _many_ books. In fact, our library is the third largest of all wizard families in all of the United Kingdom. Therefore, I do not know exactly which book you mean or the significance of said book," he easily responded.

"Mr. Malfoy, you _are_ aware that your full cooperation is needed." It was not a question.

"Certainly, Mr. Smith. Likewise, you must be aware that my father is a rather secretive man. When I was older, yes, I grew aware what was happening around me, but at age 12, you cannot expect me to know everything. My father _did_ try to protect me. So, you must ask him about this book, because I know nothing." Mr. Smith stared at him skeptically.

"Then perhaps you could tell me the goings-on of your family—that is, who your father kept company with."

"My father was a powerful Ministry man," Draco began dryly. "He kept company with _many_ people."

"Names, please, Mr. Malfoy." And Draco did as he was told, going through as many names as he remembered. "What about Greengrass?"

"The Greengrasses are a curious case. Mr. Greengrass was a man of _persuasion, _an _efficient _man, but of little inclination: not particularly interested in politics or power and more disposed to remain neutral. He, however, is presumed dead, I believe, after evading the Dark Lord's calling."

"And Nott?"

"I do believe I mentioned Nott Senior. He is dead as well."

"The younger Nott. His son. Theodore Nott."

"He has been acquitted of his 'crimes' by the Hogwarts Pardon."

"I am well aware of that. I ask if he was ever directly involved with the Dark Lord."

"He never took the Mark, if that is what you mean."

"But did he try to influence you either way?"

"Nott was rather unorthodox in his thinking. His agenda was survival, like mine. However, even that was borderline treason."

"And Mr. Gregory Goyle?"

"A blind follower."

"And Miss Pansy Parkinson?"

"The same," he responded, feeling queasy.

"And yourself?" This question caught Draco completely off-guard. "What were your reasons for involvement? What were your beliefs?" He was silent. "Mr. Malfoy, this is perhaps the single most important question that you must answer."

"I honestly thought I was doing the right thing," he said quietly. "I had to redeem my father, restore the Malfoy's power. As it turns out, I was but a pawn, a tool to punish my family's failures."

"So, you would like the world to think of you as a pawn?" Smith sneered.

"I could care less what the world thought of me as long as they left me and my family alone," Draco snarled.

"Then why did you cut off your Mark?" Smith inquired. Draco sucked in a gulp of air. "That is a story I cannot quite reconcile. Greengrass was involved in that… you said that the Greengrasses were a curious case."

"They were," Draco responded quietly, his mind already a thousand miles away as his gaze fell to the ground.

"The daughter, the youngest… Astrea Greengrass."

"Astoria," Draco forcefully corrected the man.

"Pardon?"

"Astoria. Her name is Astoria Greengrass." Smith checked his papers.

"Yes, Astoria. She will be called forth at your trial as a witness."

"…_why?_"

"Because Professor McGonagall is convinced that she knows something that can redeem you. She may say what she would like, but in the meanwhile, I would like to know why you attempted to cut off your Mark."

"I did not attempt, sir. I succeeded. It is gone."

"Are you proud of that?" the man asked. Draco thought for a moment: yes and no, for he was proud that it was gone but ashamed of the scar it left.

"I do not know."

"Then tell me about that night. Why did you do it?" Draco pursed his lips.

"I could divulge this information after a cup of tea. We have been at this for hours," Draco drawled. A tea cup was pushed in front of him minutes later.

"_Talk_."

* * *

The Nott Heights—or simply known as "The Heights," for there was nothing else of value to the wizarding community in the hostile moors around Yorkshire—was an acquired taste, to say the least. However, to a creature such as Theodore Nott, it was a haven. Also, it was hell. Theodore Nott had always been a lone wolf, much preferring solitude in his books than the complications of humanity. Astoria already knew this and saw how the cozy fortress would appeal to Theo. The moors were just as haunting as the house: winds ripped through the thrush, making it seem like the land was always whispering. It was nearly perpetually cloudy and the terrain, although beautiful, was dangerous and unforgiving. The Heights was the perfect place to be alone, for there was little to do except walk or read (they had the largest library in the wizarding UK). It was almost romantic, but more Gothic than anything. Here, time stood still enough to allow solitude to creep in… which was what Theodore Nott desired above all.

Yet, even he knew this desire was not too healthy. Astoria reasoned that Nott Senior was not around too much with the way Theo navigated himself through the estate, completely unperturbed; he was used to being on his own and did not much enjoy having other people, which was why he confined Astoria to the sitting room. He still had his secrets. Handing her a coat, they left the house, not dwelling too long in the empty, almost soulless building. The moors, with its crisp wind and harsh terrain, commanded their attention as they walked. They were silent, as usual, until Astoria felt that she needed to speak up.

"If you ever need a change of scenery, you know there will always be a room made up for you at the Estate. No questions asked." Theo was silent for a long moment.

"Tomorrow night?" he asked. It would be the night before Tracey Davis' funeral. Astoria nodded.

"For however long," she added and he briskly nodded. It took him another ten minutes to mutter the words, "Thank you." Astoria pretended that she hardly noticed over the wind and gave a curt nod. They were silent again until he spoke.

"You remember Warren Macnair?"

"Of course."

"You remember what I did, what I said?" he asked tentatively.

"Naturally, Theo."

_Just then, there was a loud bang as Macnair flew off of her and into another wall where his body hit the stone with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground like a rag doll and proceeded to scream as spell after spell hit him, creating bruises, cuts, and probably broken bones… It was then that Theo Nott appeared in her vision, stored his wand away, and delivered a punch to Macnair that broke most of the bones in Theo's hand and smashed in Macnair's nose. Only then did he turn around to look at Astoria. He swiftly walked over to her and gathered her in his arms._

"_I know I said that we could not band together, but __Merlin__, Astoria, you… you have to trust me. I am going to be here for you. Damn it, I refuse to let you—" he rushed on inarticulately…_

"I meant it. You should know that I meant it. You remember… you remember that I said would tell you everything, when it was all over? I gave you Aristotle's _Poetics._"

"Yes, I remember, Theo," she said calmly, nervous at what he was getting to.

"There was… one more book I wanted to give you. Well, actually two, but they accompany each other. I assume, however, that you are rather occupied at the moment rearranging centuries of convoluted family finances like myself, so I will give you the materials after the trials are over. And once you have read them, I will tell you everything." He sighed. "But you were right: I am but a man, not Merlin. If I had known…"

"The moors are quite lovely today," Astoria offered after a few minutes of silence.

"I knew you would appreciate them," he said softly, his spindly piano-hands brushing over the top of the thrush. A small, gentle smile was hidden in the corner of his mouth. "So, tomorrow night?"

"Come for dinner. I think you and my uncle would get along quite well. He has a variety of interests. And Victor is quite well-read."

"And you will stay…" _with me during the funeral?_

"Of course," she cut him off so he could maintain his dignity. He nodded and looked at her like he really wanted to say something, or couldn't find the words, or knew it was not a good time and it would have to wait. He closed his mouth and they continued to walk.

The next night, Theo did come over for dinner. Victor put a bottle of dinner wine on the table and Astoria pointedly took it away. The writer looked at her questioningly and Astoria merely shook her head. The dinner was as pleasant as Astoria expected, with Victor and Theo exchanging favorite authors—magical and Muggle alike—and Theo and Alastair quietly debating the merits and vices of the Wizengamot. Daphne was a little put out that she was unable to participate in the conversation until Theo politely pointed out that the room was 'very well-lit,' which contented her for the rest of the night.

"This Nott character…" Alastair began later when they were alone in the kitchen.

"He _does_ have a name, uncle," Astoria stacked the plates on the counter.

"Theodore… is your friend, correct?"

"Yes."

"Nothing more than a friend?"

"I am unsure what you mean," Astoria narrowed her eyes.

"You do not… _fancy _him, or the like?" her uncle asked and she nearly snorted at how terribly awkward it all was.

"No, we are but good friends."

"He is an odd one. I cannot quite figure him out."

"He has his secrets," Astoria said solemnly, not meeting her uncle's eye.

"You have been through hell and back with him, have you not?" he asked softly, causing Astoria to nod. "Sometimes, while we were hiding here, I would wonder what you would do—_worry_ what you would do—if things came to a battle."

"Why?"

"I was concerned you would remain chained by the Carrows."

"I… I could no longer live like that. I think I would have rather died," she said simply, honestly, frankly, full-knowing it would terrify her uncle. He shuddered. "So, Theo and I went back."

"And you trust him?"

"I owe him my life," Astoria said, at last meeting her uncle's gaze. "I know he has his ghosts, but if you knew what he did for me during the battle…"

"What did he do?" Alastair demanded. Astoria shrunk back, regretting her words. "Astoria, _what did he do?"_ he asked more sternly, taking her by the shoulders.

"The scars on my back," she began hollowly, "the bruise on my neck: these are presents from Alecto Carrow. Theo came… and everyone knows what he did." Theodore Nott, the Slytherin son of a Death Eater, killed Alecto Carrow.

"Alright," Alastair said with finality, as if accepting the stranger under the roof. "Alright." He embraced her for a quick moment and left the kitchen. Astoria shortly followed.

The evening passed on with ease until Theo grew quiet: Astoria knew he was thinking of the next day. She showed him to his room, where she had left a few books for him to peruse. She had a feeling he would not sleep and when morning came, the bags under his eyes proved her suspicions. He was silent, his face impassive and stony. Daphne straightened his robes as he looked into the unknown distance. They Apparated to the cemetery and all but Theo began to walk off as soon as they had steadied themselves. Only Astoria's small hand on his arm awakened him.

"Come on," she gave a gentle pull to send him walking.

The entire time, she waited for him to break. He did not. No, that was not the way of the Notts: they didn't snap, they crumbled. Theirs was the way of slow destruction, of half-empty bottles, dreams that turned into nightmares, of hollow eyes and long silences. He took the liberty of one such silence as he passed by her grave. He stopped and stood there for a few minutes and Astoria wondered what he was thinking or if he was simply stuck and could not bring himself to move on. She was in the middle of pondering this when he said one word.

"Leave."

Astoria knew better than to argue. She had already allowed herself the liberty of running through her mind all the big moments involving Tracey that year: the earlier days when she saw Theo and Tracey studying together, the time when Tracey and Theo argued about her, the look of desperation and fierce loyalty in Tracey's eyes when her sister was in danger, Theo carrying her body into the Great Hall, Fiona's sobs…

Astoria allowed these moments to sink in and then pass. Tracey was dead and she had been a good person and a good sister. She was certainly one of the bravest Slytherins she knew; perhaps only Severus Snape had trumped her. Tracey Davis, however, had left a lot behind: a younger sister, a family, a bright career. But now, she was dead and it seemed positively absurd; Astoria could not process it. She jumped when a hand grabbed her arm.

"Astoria."

"Fiona." There was an awkward pause. "How are you?" It was a stupid question that Astoria knew the answer to perfectly well. The girl was heartbroken; she had lost her older sister.

"Fine, thank you," came the neutral, clipped response. Ravenclaws and Slytherins tended to be better with forced formality. "And yourself?"

"Well, thank you."

"I had hoped you would come."

"Really?" Astoria asked, surprised.

"Yes, but it's hard to explain… why. But you understand."

"I do?" Now Astoria was quite confused.

"Well, you don't understand why it's hard to explain, but you understand how I… feel."

"I am unsure if I do, to be honest," Astoria replied, fixing her gaze on the Ravenclaw, hoping that Fiona Davis would understand that Astoria had hardly come to grips with her parents' deaths.

"But you were there. At the Battle. You understand that."

"And this… helps?"

"It does. Being with someone who understands what it was like helps me. Because it could have been you, easily. Daphne and I sat, waiting for our sisters to return. One came home by Apparition and the other came home in a coffin." Fiona's words were so shocking plain and blunt that she was caught a little off-guard. Astoria had expected tears, but not such brutal honesty.

"Your sister was a very brave person," she attempted.

"I know that, Astoria. I do not need consolation; I have plenty of that. I want answers."

"Theo already explained the succession of events, I believe…"

"I know how; I want to know _why,_" Fiona demanded. Astoria observed her red-rimmed eyes, her hard expression, her gaunt face, her fingernails digging into her palms…

"No one knows why, Fiona. You could ask that question forever and never get an answer."

"But I need to know," she grew more discomposed. "How do people move on without knowing why?"

"They learn to stop asking why—that is how they move on."

"How do _you _know? You know why."

"But I do not know how or where or by whom. Death does not answer every lingering question that life proposes."

"So what do I do?"

"If I knew, I would tell you," Astoria replied honestly.

"This summer is going to be…" Fiona struggled to find the adjective.

"Yes," Astoria agreed, not finding the adjective either. There was not a word to describe the agonizing process of healing. "Are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Most likely. I hope we will see each other around there…?" Astoria left the question hanging.

"I hope we will see each other before then."

"That will be nice. I am rather busy at the moment with… things… but when it is resolved I will Owl you."

"Thanks, Astoria."

"You are welcome, but I am hardly sure for what."

"It feels better to know that it's okay that I don't know."

"Oh. Yes. Right. Well, take care," she nodded her head and began to walk away, but a question made her stop. "Wait, Fiona."

"Yes?"

"Why me? Why not Daphne? I mean, it makes more sense that she would be better to talk to about these things. After all, she is _sensitive_," Astoria attempted to explain. She saw Fiona's mouth quirk up for a moment.

"Like I said, because you were there. And from having my sister be a Slytherin, I know how you are essentially. And you were probably almost a Ravenclaw, right? So you know how I am, essentially. And the essentials are important," she continued logically. "We both lost something that night. Misery loves company," she added as an ironic afterthought. Astoria's eyes drifted to Theo for a moment. "I don't even know if I want to know all of that story," she gestured to Theo Nott standing at Tracey's grave.

"I do not even know if I know a quarter of that story, to be perfectly honest."

"So we all have questions."

That time, Astoria matched Fiona's tentative, wry grin.

"I _will_ Owl you," Astoria promised.

"I know." Then, "Make sure he gets home alright," she gestured to Theo. Astoria sighed. After all, Theodore Nott only invited more questions.

* * *

"Miss Greengrass? Little Astoria Greengrass?" his mother narrowed his eyes. "Draco, what did you _do_ to her?"

"I feel I do not merit such an accusation, Mother," he growled, lowering his gaze.

"Do not give your mother cheek, Draco," his father coldly checked him.

"What does she have as leverage against you? Has she not done enough damage?" Narcissa Malfoy continued shrilly.

"Mother, she is testifying on my behalf, not against me," he drawled. "Besides, she did not do any damage—if anything, she was collateral damage," he found himself suddenly defending Little Greengrass. Because really, what did she do to make his life more difficult? Yes, he was annoyed terribly by her and honestly felt that her presence was tiring, but what did she do to him? Perhaps she did make him question some things, but did she impede his progress? If anything, she helped him: she helped him because she had to, because she had no choice. He sighed and continued.

"It started early on in the school year. Daphne, her sister, saw Blaise's Mark. Little Greengrass cleaned that up—Obliviated her own sister—and told us—Nott, Blaise, and I—to stay away. But Nott had other plans. She was in. After that, we were… inextricably tied. 'Knotted' is perhaps more accurate.

"The Carrows took her to the dungeon to inquire after her parents. I got her out after it was all over, because we needed her."

"Why did you need her?" his mother asked, eyes flashing anxiously. He continued on, ignoring his mother's question.

"She needed Occlumency lessons to keep our secrets—and perhaps her own. I gave them to her. She helped me out with the Carrows' 'supplementary lessons.' I took her place for lessons on her birthday. She helped me steal detention records. I lied to the Dark Lord for her…"

"When?" his mother gasped.

"Christmas," Draco said lowly. "She… she would have been the perfect spy: quiet, discreet, extremely intelligent—probably even smarter than the Mudblood Granger. She was more than capable, extremely efficient, as hardened and quick as any of us. The Carrows adored her, but she was influenced by Nott: he, as you know, was always a rather… _independent_ thinker," Draco chose his words wisely. "But we needed her off the radar, so I lied to the Dark Lord; I said she was a liability. Which was true, in the end. So," he sighed, "she was indebted to me. And like always, she did what she had to do."

"So, all along, she could have gotten you all killed or saved you?" his father asked with an arched brow. Draco nodded his head. "What a dark horse," Lucius Malfoy rubbed his chin.

"Then despite all she has done, she is perhaps one of the only people that can redeem you," his mother clarified and Draco nodded his head again. "I never liked the Greengrasses," his mother insisted begrudgingly, frowning all the while. His father, on the other hand, smirked.

"Who would have thought…?"

* * *

Theo refused to come back to the Greengrass Estate with Astoria after the funeral, announcing that he wanted to be alone and they would have tea later that week. Astoria, not wanting 'no' as an answer, gently coaxed him toward the Estate until he coolly snapped at her to just leave him alone, turned on his heel, and Apparated back to the Heights. She was scared he would do something irrational and was quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

"You're worried about him," Daphne stated as the two girls curled up on Astoria's bed.

"Yes, I am. He uses alcohol to shut down, I suppose, to stop feeling or to stop remembering. I understand that he is grieving, but I wish he would not turn to Firewhiskey. I just hope it does not become a habit," Astoria sighed. "Do you think he will recover quickly?"

"Tori, he doesn't have a _cold_. People don't just stop grieving overnight," Daphne said quietly but firmly. Astoria thought about her sister's words: Astoria had held in her grief for her parents' deaths, but she did it out of necessity. Even now it troubled her, but she had a feeling she had not had time to begin grieving.

"He _did_ lose his best friend."

"Astoria, he lost a lot more than that."

"You mean his father? I always gathered that they were not close…"

"No, Astoria," Daphne sighed heavily. She grew nervous at the use of her full first name. "You mean you don't know? You didn't know?"

"I did not know what?" Astoria breathed, both of the girls abruptly sitting up.

"Theo loved Tracey. They were in _love_." Silence filled the room.

"_What?_" it came out as a choked whisper.

"They were _in love_, Tori. I mean, they never dated and they probably never told the other their feelings, but it didn't need to be said. You could just _tell_, with the way they understood each other. It was deeper than friendship," Daphne explained. "Did you not see the way they looked at each other? _Merlin_, Tori, they were like a textbook case of unrequited romance!"

"I… I did not know," she stammered.

"Of _course_ you didn't know, Tori, you _never_ notice these things," Daphne rolled her eyes disdainfully. "And you didn't need to because he was on your side, because in the end, he picked _you_."

"What are you saying?" Astoria asked, her voice going dangerously cold.

"Pansy and I always wondered what would happen, what Theo would do during this year. We all thought he would use his leverage as a Death Eater's son to protect Tracey in his own secretive way, which was why we were surprised when he suddenly became your ally. He could only pick one, Tori, and he picked you. He picked you and now Tracey's dead."

"You make it sound like you wish my funeral was today and not Tracey's," Astoria ground her teeth together, close to exploding at her sister.

"I didn't mean that," Daphne dramatically insisted, grabbing Astoria's hand. "What I'm trying to get at is why would Theo do that? Why would he pick you over the girl he was in love with?" Daphne demanded, causing Astoria's head to swim.

"I do not know."

"You don't know? You read his stupid books, allied with him, and followed him into battle without even _questioning_ why he picked you? He's fucking _Theodore Nott_, Tori—he _always_ has an agenda." Astoria chewed on her lip.

"I knew to take him with a grain of salt. I knew he had his secrets. But he promised he would tell me everything. Soon," Astoria insisted, causing Daphne to sigh. "I suppose that explains his grief, then," she added awkwardly. "Why did I not see it, Daph?"

"Because you don't know what it looks like, Tori. Because you've never been in love," Daphne responded, sounding like she was about to cry. Astoria decided to not prod for more of an answer and adjusted the pillow, nodding off until she woke up screaming.

* * *

Ten hours. They had questioned him for ten hours on the day before his trial. They said it was last minute notes to close up his case, but Draco thought they were rather enjoying wearing him down. He did not even want to count the cups of tea he had in that duration—Merlin knew he would be up all night with the amount of caffeine he had consumed. And he would have to brush his teeth for an extra ten minutes at least.

The Aurors insisted that they had to be quite thorough and no subject was left untouched. It was terrifying, because Draco was used to having his secrets, but he would growl under his breath and tell them everything. Yet there were some things they asked him that he had hardly even thought of. Usually, it had to do with feelings. It was fairly easy to describe his thoughts, but for some reason, the Aurors thought his _feelings _were quite important. Bloody Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, all of them.

It was difficult to explain that he had shut off most of his feelings for the past two years in order to survive. It was difficult to explain that feelings were not the sort of thing encouraged in his family and the society he grew up in and that feelings were the sort of thing that got one in trouble. Because feelings made people vulnerable, and vulnerable people did stupid things, and stupid things lead to failed plans, and failed plans were a sign of a lack of cunning and ambition, and a lack of cunning and ambition was a betrayal to his House and blood. Therefore, feelings were bad. But instead of saying this, he announced that he did not know how he felt.

The Aurors would sigh and shuffle papers around and he had the distinct premonition that his mother would be displeased. His father couldn't give a rat's arse and spent most of his time locked up in his study with a bottle of Firewhiskey. And when he was in deposition, there was usually a lot of yelling and his mother would tell him to go to another part of the safe house. His mother was calm and serene as always. She changed the bandages on his arm without flinching and made her rounds around the house, straightening up the shabby furniture to keep busy. Once, he thought he caught her crying, but she was cleaning up the mantle and could have gotten dust in her eye.

Sometimes he would sit on the porch of the safe house to get outside of the stifling atmosphere within. It was better to enjoy the fresh air even with an Auror lurking on his shoulder than stay inside sometimes. It was during these moments when he began to piece together the final battle. Severus Snape, his mentor, had been with the other side all along—since his childhood, when he fell in love with Potter's Mudblood mother. Snape fell in love with her, watched her get Sorted into his enemy house, watched her fall in love with the man he hated most, and then she became a Potter and had a son and he had to see that son, the remainder of his love, every single day. Oddly enough, Draco found it rather tragic. He had been terribly bored and had done something he had never done before—putting his feet in another person's shoes—and suddenly, things made sense. Snape was on Potter's side.

But he was also on Draco's side. Because Draco was the youngest to take the Mark, only slightly edging out his dear Auntie Bellatrix and Severus Snape himself, and Snape already knew the mistakes he had made and for some reason, did not want Draco to make the same ones. Draco saw that he had tried to protect him, that the Potions Master had done something that his father should have done. It made Draco loath his father all the more; and how funny it was, considering a little over two years ago he would have done anything to be just like his father and now he wanted to be nothing like him and have nothing to do with him. Things were certainly complicated with his father, but Draco didn't want to think of him.

But Snape: thoughts of his mentor constantly plagued his mind. Was he still a good mentor if he loved a Mudblood? Was he still a good professor? Yes and yes. But he had been a spy, a traitor: wasn't that bad? He had betrayed the cause… but he had hidden it quite well. He had fooled _everyone, _even the Dark Lord. Draco even had a suspicion that he protected them all (Slytherins and blood traitors alike) from the Carrows' sadistic ways… and wasn't that good? For some reason, it didn't bother Draco too much that Snape had loved a Mudblood. Draco didn't know _how, _but accepted it for what it was. What he was curious was how Snape managed to hide this internal torment the majority of his life. And Draco's marvel toward this feat made him realize that his feelings—yes, his feelings—toward the man had not changed: that he would always admire Severus Snape.

Severus Snape had never been the master of the Elder Wand. Draco had been. He had unknowingly, unwittingly possessed the most powerful weapon in the history of wizardkind and he let it slide through his fingers and into Potter's hands. He had given Potter what he needed to kill the Dark Lord and he had done so with his wand. He had a feeling about this too: victorious. His wand killed the Dark Lord and he was happy about it; naturally, this was a terrifying feeling because he still lived in fear of that wizard, even though He was dead. Draco wondered when the fear would stop because he still felt scared all the fucking time.

He had been used so mercilessly, thrown into an army before he decided what side he wanted to be on and if he even agreed with their ideology; moreover, the Dark Lord coerced into taking the Mark for the sole purpose of punishing his family for his father's failures. And Draco, unwittingly, took the Mark for the sole purpose of keeping his family from getting hurt. It was a little like the story his mother had told him when he was younger, how a woman cut off her beautiful hair in order to buy her husband a chain for his watch and the man sold his precious watch to buy his wife a set of combs. (Years later, Astoria would inform him quite matter-of-factly that the story was a Muggle story and when he asked his mother, she would say in a distant voice that Andromeda had told her the story when they were in school.)

He was a bit of a sacrificial lamb, but not really, because these sorts of creatures were to be pitied. And Draco Malfoy was not to be pitied, so where did that leave him? These were the thoughts that kept him awake most of the night before his trial. And when morning came and he donned his best dress robes, he realized that the Wizengammot would get to decide where all his mistakes would leave him. Before the Aurors Flooed the Malfoy family to the Ministry, Draco had the wry hope that the members of the Wizengammot had a better night of sleep than he did, because he did not want someone in a sour mood deciding his fate.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," his father spat. His mother straightened his tie and sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

In her dreams she saw her parents. They looked as they did right as they left the Greengrass Estate for the last time: her mother with her pearls and her tight smile and her father with his worn expression and handkerchief askew. Except they were running and they were terrified and she could hear screams and bangs and flying chunks of earth and then blood—oh, the _blood_. It was a scarlet dream and all horror and fear and anguish, and she watched her parents die over and over again, unfathomably slowly until her mind could take no more of it and she awoke with a scream already ripping through her throat. Everyone in the house came running with wands in their hands, only to find Astoria curled up in her bed, sobbing hysterically and without the words to describe what had passed.

She couldn't sleep after that. She drank warm tea, munched on some comfort food, attempted to flip through a book, counted winged horses, put on a record, but nothing would quell her mind. With hesitation, she opened up the drawer in her bedside table and grasped the brass keys. She opened her door and walked down the stairs, her feet padding gently on the wood floor as she made her way to her father's study.

She stepped up to her father's desk, her fingers trailing along the ornate wood affectionately before she placed the one of the keys in a lock on one of the drawers. It did not work and so she tried the second, which clicked open the drawer. Inside was another pair of brass keys. Confused, she picked up that pair and heard a few books tumble off a shelf. She jumped, thinking that there was someone there, but instead found that where the books once stood was now a plank of wood with a lock on it. Astoria placed the first pair of keys into the drawer, which magically slid shut. Tentatively, she tried the new set of keys in the new lock on the bookshelf, which revealed a new drawer near the window. She swapped out the keys and continued to prowl about the room, opening new drawers and finding new keys until at last, one of the floorboards popped out and the door to the study locked itself. Astoria pulled off the floorboard and went to unlock the hidden compartment. None of the keys worked. She stared at the lock, then realized that something was painted on it: it was a pair of green eyes. Astoria blinked and the painted eyes blinked back. Startled, she looked at them more closely until she pulled back in surprise, seeing that the lock had changed. She tried the keys again: the second one worked and she opened up the drawer.

Inside was not a key as she thought, but more valuable things. She spent the next minute pulling out old journals, scrolls of parchment, and other notebooks. There were things that would greatly serve her hopes of sorting her family's finances and she even discovered in her skimming of the documents that she just so happened to own an island in Greece. However, the marvelous discover was the personal diary of her grandfather, a bitter old man whom she had known so little of, the man who let the Greengrass practice of winged horse racing die. Accompanying this were numerous documents on the farm, records of races won, and tender descriptions of every horse.

As she opened the first pages of these documents, she felt something in her heart tug. It was a hard feeling to explain or rationalize. And for a moment, she thought it was something good, something that would propel her forward, but then she remembered that there were other matters to sort—Draco Malfoy's trial, for instance. She settled into an armchair and only made it a few pages before the words grew blurry. And as she drifted off into sleep, she heard the whirling sound of all the documents magically re-sorting themselves and the sound of clicking locks and clanking keys. She opened her eyes the slightest to find the original set of brass keys fly out of the hidden drawer in her father's (her) desk and zoom toward her hand. With that, her eyes closed and remained so until she heard Dop tickling around in the kitchen. The day had begun: it was time to go save or condemn the Great Git's sorry ass.


	21. Chapter 17 TEASER

_Author's Note: Well... it's been two months. Sorry about that. In my defense, I got caught up in the pre-holiday craziness, which led to holiday craziness, and now I have finals. I got to power through one more week and then things should get considerably less stressful, but until that time, you will have to bear with me. I didn't want you all to think I had completely abandon you, so here's a teaser for Chapter 17, which will be divided into three parts. Jewels5, the author of "The Life and Times" (best Lily/James story ever) often starts the chapter with a flashforward to an event in the chapter and then backtracks and builds up to that point. I really liked that technique and wanted to try it out myself. So, here it is. These tidbits are supposed to be a little ambiguous... you may have to read them twice. I would love to hear what you think is going to happen in each part!_

_Also, happy birthday to iCarlyFTW77! As requested, this is for you. Sorry I couldn't give you a full chapter._

_When I have the complete first part of this chapter completed, I am going replace this chapter with the new one. Keep in mind that FanFiction doesn't let you leave more than one review while signed in for the same chapter. So, if you want to review the teaser chapter and the new chapter, then leave an anonymous review (but put your username so I can find you and write back!) or just submit the review for a different chapter._

_Happy New Year everyone and thanks for your patience!_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 17: The Tale of Three Traitors, or "Trials and Tribulations" _

_T__EASER CHAPTER_

Part 1: The Malfoy Trial, or "The Consequences of Green Eyes"

For a moment as the Wizengamot was deciding his fate, Draco Malfoy found a pair of green eyes in the audience, the same pair that belonged to the girl who he had silently permitted to divulge his secrets to the court. It was just a moment and in that moment, he began to realize how things could change. He could get sent to Azkaban and his world would turn grey; he had been living in a grey zone the past two years of his life, but to be wholly consumed by it—to have it seep into his every pore—seemed more unbearable that the harshness of a blinding white and the darkness of the deepest black. There would be no green in Azkaban, he thought.

There would be no green of the Tiny Terror's eyes or the apples in the kitchen produce basket. There would be no yellow of his mother's gold jewelry or the pages of the old books in the library. There would be no purple of the drawing room walls or blue of the sky on a clear day in Wiltshire. There would be no orange of the sunrise or of the leaves in the fall and there would be no red of the roses in the Malfoy gardens.

His heart pounded and time slowed to a halt. In that moment, when he caught Little Greengrass's gaze, the court announced for them all to rise and Draco felt his body move on its own accord.

"The defendant, Draco Lucius Malfoy, has been charged with the crimes of attempted murder, dalliance in the Dark Arts, accessory to murder, use of the Cruciatus Curse, acceptance of the Dark Mark, unreasonable use of magical force, and concealment of Dark Objects. We, the Warlocks of the Wizengamot, find the defendant _guilty_."

* * *

Part 2: Nott and Nietzsche, or "The Lie is a Condition of Life"

"So all along you had a plan." It was a statement, not question.

"Yes," he said after a long hesitation.

"You watched it all go down; you watched my parents fall and you saw an opportunity."

"Yes. They had chosen their fate."

"And what about me? You _used_ me."

"Of course I did. We are Slytherins. It is what we do."

"You fed me to the wolves." A pause. "You manipulated me, Theo."

"Of course I did, Astoria. It was easy, almost too easy. There is a reason why books are burned. Literature is terribly potent," he mused to himself.

"And I suppose you are pleased with yourself, then."

"Well, we are alive, are we not?"

* * *

Part 3: The Greengrass Trial, or "Adult Matters"

She always knew that adults made mistakes. She watched one adult grab the arm of another, hauling him around a corner. She followed.

"What is this? Some twisted act of revenge because she is her father's daughter and not her mother's?"

"This is hardly the time or place—"

"Because Daphne would never be condemned, because how could you condemn the image of your school love? But Astoria is the image of her father, my brother; she is his daughter, every bit as conniving and clever as he was. Thomas always took what he wanted—"

"You have no idea what you are talking about, Greengrass!"

"But I do, Macmillan, I do. So back down. Because you have already fought with the Greengrasses and the first time did not go so well. I can assure you—Astoria…"

She stood behind her uncle and Mr. Macmillan. All seemed to hold their breath.

"You look so much like him," the man whispered. "And he let her die…"

"My father did not let my mother die. They were murdered, the both of them," Astoria insisted. "And the time for punishing children for their parents' mistakes must stop. If that is not persuasion enough, perhaps you ought to ask your son who saved him when his leg was broken and a Death Eater had a wand pointed at his face."

"Ernie…?"

"Yes, that one." The man's eyes widened.

"But… but I can't stop it! It's already begun! They _will_ try you as an adult."

"But I am sixteen."

"I know. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do… It's all set in motion. Sorry. I'm so, _so sorry_."


	22. Ch 17: TraitorsTrials&Tribulations P1

_Author's Note:_

_The Apology: I'm sorry for not updating for 8 months. I really am._

_The Explanation: Unless you are Hemingway, apparently living in Europe for a year does not give you much time to write. I, clearly, am not Hemingway. My time in Barcelona was amazing and I don't regret a thing. Most of the time it is better to go outside and live rather than staying in and writing about life instead. I made the decision to go out. Unfortunately, it did mean that I was horrible and not update for months. This chapter was a real killer- for some reason, writing Draco Malfoy's trial was extremely difficult. It moved along paragraph at a time and I am still rather unsatisfied with it. Some parts of too prose-y and I could not quite figure out how to end the chapter. Also, the English language is tough when you don't use it much._

_The Silver Lining: Much of the next chapter is already written. Because instead of writing about Malfoy's trial, I found "Nott and Nietzsche" much more interesting._

_The Thank Yous: So many of you sent messages to me asking me when I was going to update. All those messages made me grind my teeth and try to hammer out a couple of paragraphs. I feel so bad teasing you all so long. I've been going over my outlines for the story, so I feel better about its direction; hopefully that will mean more frequent updates._

_The Reward: This chapter is nice and long._

_The Changes: Much has changed since I have last updated. FanFiction changed their layout. I think it looks nice, but I do have one complaint: I know that this is the digital age, but every time I get a notification that someone is "following" me, I feel like I have a stalker. Probably a very nice stalker who just likes reading what I have written, but I still don't like that lingo. Also, I'm on the hunt for Astoria's face and the picture for the story is about as close as I could find. Except the freckles are missing. Sigh. Calling all artists to draw her for me!_

_And once again, thanks everyone for waiting for this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

_Recap  
_

_The war is done, but not without a price. Astoria Greengrass went back to join the Battle with Theodore Nott, barely scraped by the Death Eaters, including one Alecto Carrow, who Theo killed to save Astoria. But, many were lost and it was a summer filled with funerals and nightmares, an empty house and a summons for financial investigation. What Astoria saw and did during the Battle remains unknown to her family as they attempt to comfort her. There is still hope in the form of diaries of her Winged Horse-racing forefathers. But first, she has to save the Great Git's arse by being a witness at his trial._

_The wizarding world is on edge and Draco Malfoy certainly does not have it easy. He made countless mistakes during the Battle, constantly flip-flopping his plan and leading Crabbe to his death. Crabbe is dead. Tracey Davis is dead. Goyle, Pansy, and Blaise are in Azkaban, waiting for their trials. Draco only managed to escape the soul-sucking prison by a deal with Kingsley. However, his entire family still must face trial. As if a battle wasn't enough, Draco barely survived Little Greengrass slicing his Dark Mark off his arm. Depositions and sitting around the secret house all day have made him muse over recent happenings until his trial. But, we already know how that ends._

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 17: The Tale of Three Traitors, or "Trials and Tribulations"_

Part 1: The Malfoy Trial, or "The Consequences of Green Eyes"

For a moment as the Wizengamot was deciding his fate, Draco Malfoy found a pair of green eyes in the audience, the same pair that belonged to the girl who he had silently permitted to divulge his secrets to the court. It was just a moment and in that moment, he began to realize how things could change. He could be sent to Azkaban and his world would turn grey; he had been living in a grey zone the past two years of his life, but to be wholly consumed by it—to have it seep into his every pore—seemed more unbearable than the harshness of a blinding white and the darkness of the deepest black. There would be no green in Azkaban, he thought.

There would be no green of the Tiny Terror's eyes or the apples in the kitchen produce basket. There would be no yellow of his mother's gold jewelry or the pages of the old books in the library. There would be no purple of the drawing room walls or blue of the sky on a clear day in Wiltshire. There would be no orange of the sunrise or of the leaves in the fall and there would be no red of the roses in the Malfoy gardens.

His heart pounded and time slowed to a halt. In that moment, when he caught Little Greengrass's gaze, the court announced for them all to rise and Draco felt his body move on its own accord.

"The defendant, Draco Lucius Malfoy, has been charged with the crimes of attempted murder, dalliance in the Dark Arts, accessory to murder, use of the Cruciatus Curse, acceptance of the Dark Mark, unreasonable use of magical force, and concealment of Dark Objects. We, the Warlocks of the Wizengamot, find the defendant _guilty_."

* * *

_(To Be a Malfoy)_

Draco Malfoy met Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe when he was a child. The two boys' fathers were 'business associates' of his father, and therefore they were meant to be playmates. However, Lucius Malfoy made something very clear to young Draco that always stuck with him:

"You, son, are a Malfoy. And do you know what that means?"

It was always a hard question because there was a different answer every single time. It was not like arithmetic, where there was only one precise answer to an equation; this question—the Malfoy Mystery—had an infinite array of answers. Young Draco guessed.

"No one but my elders may tell me what to do?"

"Do not answer a question with a questioning intonation, Draco," his father sternly corrected him. "Be sure of your answer and repeat your answer properly."

"I am a Malfoy, meaning no one but my elders may tell me what to do," he dutifully recited.

"Very true, but not the answer I was looking for," his father said, a satisfied smirk twisting in the corner of his lips. Draco's young heart swelled; all he wished to do was please his father. "You, as a Malfoy, belong to a superior family. That means when associating with lesser families—such as the Crabbes and the Goyles of the world—it is imperative that you act as their leader. You are superior in every day, but it is important to have allies with lesser wizards; they can prove to be most useful at times." Draco nodded his head vigorously at his father's words. "You have purer blood than these boys. You are smarter, handsomer, and exceedingly cleverer than them; but deign to befriend them. It would please your father."

And he would have done anything to please his father. Hell, ten years later he choked back a scream of horror as his dear Auntie Bellatrix (thank Merlin she was dead) brought to life the skull and serpent tattoo on his left arm.

Not all of his dear Auntie Bellatrix's body had been recovered. Apparently, no one really liked her. Draco wondered if his mother—her own sister—even liked her. She had hardly flinched when the Bellatrix met her final demise at the wand of the Weasley matriarch. It was probably complicated. Draco had seen the Black family tree and knew that there was a third Black sister; however, it was never, _ever_ discussed. When he was younger, he once asked his father about the matter and was shut up in his room for the day in reply. As he grew up, he learned that there were things they were to never acknowledge; the third Black sister was definitely one.

He learned more of the third Black sister during the end of his fifth year, when people (classmates and Death Eaters included) around him finally grew a pair and decided they could actually talk about his family behind his back without fear of severe retribution. Her name was Andromeda; she married a Mudblood (Ted Tonks) and had one daughter (Nymphadora Tonks). Nymphadora, his cousin (what an odd concept), married Professor Lupin and had a child (Theodore Lupin, or Teddy). Draco had only a week ago pieced together (courtesy of articles in the _Prophet_), that Ted Tonks was killed by the Snatchers, Nymphadora Tonks was killed by his (her) dear Auntie Bellatrix, and Professor Lupin was killed by Dolohov, leaving the child orphaned and Andromeda Tonks widowed. Draco hardly knew what to think of that, but decided that most people would probably consider it rather sad… _tragic_ even.

But he could not really consider much his widowed aunt, his dead uncle, cousin, and cousin-in-law, or their orphaned child; he had never even met them. What rather plagued him, however, was Vincent Crabbe. Vincent Fucking Crabbe, who had at last turned on him in the Room of Requirement as he tried to kill the precious trio of Gryffindorks. Vincent Fucking Crabbe, who had cast Fiendfyre that nearly killed them all—instead, it only killed him. Vincent Crabbe, who had been his lackey since his childhood. Vincent Crabbe, who Draco made take Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself as a girl while he spent hours trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. Vincent Crabbe, who had gone back at the last minute to try to stop his spell, only to be consumed by the flames he had created… Vincent, whose body would never be recovered, whose pet Crup would sorely miss him, who was dead and gone at 18. Draco shuddered, thinking of the pain when the Fiendfyre licked his own skin. He could not possibly imagine having those flames consume all of his body. What a horrible, _horrible_ way to die.

And the odd part was that Draco felt strangely responsible. He had dragged them all over the castle, made them follow him. He just wanted to find Potter so badly; it never quite occurred to him that they could die. And now, Crabbe and Davis were dead, Goyle, Pansy, and Blaise were in Azkaban, and Daphne and Millicent were at what remained of their broken homes. They had flown so high, only to fall so damn far. Azkaban was but looming in the distance of his fate.

"Draco, may I please come in?" he heard his mother's smooth voice on the other side of his door.

"You may," he responded, attempting to straighten out his robes as he stared into his temporary bedroom mirror. Her heels clicked across the floor and her hands came to rest on his shoulders, smoothing out the fabric effortlessly. Women, it seemed, had an instinctive knowledge of these things. Hell, even Little Greengrass had fixed his collar on the Hogwarts Express after Christmas break, her little hands neatly and efficiently plucking the fabric in its proper position…

"Better," she said with finality, peering over her son's shoulder to meet his gaze in the mirror. She did not need to ask silly questions like, "How are you?" because she already knew. She was his mother; she _always_ knew. "We should be off in just a few minutes." Draco sharply nodded his head. The woman studied his face, her pale blue eyes sweeping over his features before she sighed. "Be proud, but not arrogant. Be intelligent, but not pedantic or presuming. We do not have to run anymore. We do not have to hide. Be honest to the judges; be honest to _yourself_, Draco. And we will get through this." Draco felt a lump in his throat. "I will see you in the entrance hall in one minute."

It was a long minute. Steely grey eyes met in the mirror as he stared at his own reflection. He was 17, almost 18, and looking at a life time in prison. Those seventeen years of memories were not enough to last him the rest of his life; what had he done in seventeen years worth remembering? He had survived. But he hadn't really lived. Not really. No. He pulled himself to the entrance hall, where his mother and father waited with three Aurors. For a moment, his father pulled him close and whispered in his ear.

"Remember, son: you are a Malfoy."

Draco looked up to his father, grey eyes meeting grey eyes.

"I do not even know what that _means_ anymore."

And then they Disapparated to the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

_(Fate, or Whatever It Is)_

Before his family's trials, some of the most notorious Death Eaters stood before the Wizengamot court to receive their sentences. All were guilty and were the last wizards to receive the Dementor's Kiss. One of these was Amycus Carrow.

Draco thought it all hypocritical. It was the 10th of May and on that day and the day prior, the most criminal and well-known Death Eaters had their trials. It was all cut and dry, with plenty of evidence against them—more than enough evidence to spend a life in Azkaban and sufficient to receive the Dementor's Kiss. However, the catch was that a law had been put into place that on the 11th of May, Dementors would no longer be used to guard Azkaban and the Dementor's Kiss would no longer be recognized as a Ministry approved punishment for criminal activity. Therefore, the Ministry knew that the Dementors were evil and unjust, but did not mind employing them to rid the world of a few Death Eaters.

Draco and his family had a chance of receiving the same fate.

Amycus Carrow's trial had been quick, apparently. Whispers about the courtroom indicated that further evidence of his misdeeds at Hogwarts had been brought to light extremely recently: in fact, that the detention records (which Draco knew for a fact were rather detailed) had been mysteriously sent to the Ministry. It must have been Little Greengrass—it could have been no one else. The vague memory of him telling her in his weak stupor to take the detention records hidden in his room suddenly came back to him. He felt sick to his stomach and rubbed his arm absent-mindedly. It was still on the mend and had a thick bandage wrapped around it as the skin continued to heal.

They were escorted through the Ministry of Magic surrounded by Aurors. He supposed they were lucky that the formality of magical handcuffs has been foregone and he was allowed to walk freely. Well, "freely." He kept his head down until he glanced out of the corner of his eyes to see his mother walking with the unmistakable, silky Black walk: it was not just a walk, but not quite a strut, for Blacks did not have to strut to show their superiority. It was something in their air, heads high, eyes fixed on their destination unless it flickered toward something that interested them—quiet, but dangerous, like a cat on the prowl; intimidating and unapproachable, graceful and refined all at the same time. Draco took a shaky breath, remembered his mother's words, and lifted up his head, only to be greeted by the flashing of a thousand cameras. He was shocked at first but quickly shifted his face into a neutral expression. However, if one looked closely, they would have seen Draco's hands shake before he hid them away in his robe pockets.

"Mr. Malfoy, is this the end of the Malfoy influence?"

"_You scum! You deserve to rot in Azkaban!"_

"Mrs. Malfoy, how do you feel about your sister's death?"

"_Death Eaters! Killers! Liars!"_

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, is it true you tried to kill yourself?"

"_Lock them up! Don't let them walk free!"_

"Mr. Malfoy, what excuse will it be this time to justify your alliance to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"_You are a disgrace to us all!"_

"Mrs. Malfoy, how could you stand by as a mother and watch your son take the Dark Mark?"

"_How can you live with yourselves?"_

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, what does it feel like to have the Dark Mark branded on your arm at such a young age?"

"_Dementor's Kiss! Give all of them the Kiss!"_

"Mr. Malfoy—"

"Mrs. Malfoy—"

"Mr. Draco Malfoy—"

"_Scum!"_

"_Death Eaters!"_

"_The Kiss!"_

"—is it true—?"

"—how do you feel—?"

"—why did you—?"

"_Shame on you!"_

"_Rot in Azkaban!"_

"_The Kiss! The Kiss!"_

"Malfoy—"

"_Give them the Kiss!"_

His stomach nearly upended itself at all the shouting and lights and suddenly, there were green eyes.

"It's okay, Draco, everything is going to be fine," came the reassuring voice of Daphne Greengrass. "Tori's going to help you out." He shifted his gaze from the aqua green eyes of the eldest Greengrass daughter to the hard, lime-colored eyes of the youngest. Little Greengrass looked at him squarely with a neutral gaze. All he could read on her face was exhaustion, as if she had not slept a wink the night before; Draco himself had hardly slept either.

The Aurors dragged him into the courtroom, a giant circle with stadium-like seats on the edges for the members of the court, the press, and other observers and a few chairs and podiums in the middle for witnesses, speakers, and the court reporter. He and his parents had been directed to separate chairs on opposite ends of the room.

The courtroom filled up, people exiting from the Carrow trial and others entering to catch a glimpse at the Malfoy family. All were still talking about what had passed—how the evidence against the Death Eater was overwhelming and the newly uncovered evidence had sealed the deal. Amycus Carrow would receive the Dementor's Kiss that evening at nightfall.

At last, the courtroom seemed about to burst in capacity and it was declared that only the members of the court, the press, witnesses, and involved parties could remain—"involved parties" apparently meant everyone that the Malfoy's had crossed or made their lives a living hell… which was, frankly, still a lot of people. Everyone finally settled into their seats as the court demanded silence. It fell heavily in the room and Draco could hear the slow pounding of his heart as the Chief Warlock rose from her bench. Draco knew who it was from the newspapers: Augusta Longbottom, the grandmother of Gryffindork Longbottom. The Ministry had great fun scrambling around for witches and wizards to fill posts of the "dirty" members in the Ministry and Mrs. Longbottom, with her keen sense of justice and general strictness, seemed to fill the post just fine; in fact, _The Prophet _(with new staff, naturally) did nothing but rave about her rulings.

Practically everyone in the Order of the Phoenix had a Ministry job now. (Draco snidely thought that if things continued how they were, the Weasley's might actually become richer than him. That thought alone made Draco nearly puke on the polished floor of the Wizengamot.) Apparently a number of kids in the Old Coot's Army had been offered jobs in various offices in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement without needing to return to school; Potter had been directly offered a position in the Auror's Office. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the Minister of Magic. McGonagall was the Headmistress of Hogwarts, which was being rebuilt over the summer to open for the new school year. Most of the members of the Wizengamot had been replaced; half of the Ministry workers were under investigation. The pocketbooks of every Pureblood family were being closely watched. Owls, Floo channels, and Portkeys were also heavily restricted until every known Death Eater was caught and locked away. Oddly enough, not many seemed to mind the momentary invasion of privacy if it meant that the fear would stop; the war was over and the final battle won (or lost, depending how one looked at it), but peace was still far away.

Augusta Longbottom must have been just as old as McGonagall, but both had aged from the war. Well, _wars._ They had seen two. She was tall, thin, and bony, and looked down her nose at the courtroom the way Draco looked at pretty much everyone: it was pride, pride of the Pureblood variety. The Longbottom family, in fact, had been fairly prestigious in the ranks of the Pureblood society until her son took a public stand against the Dark Lord during the first war by joining the Auror's Office. Grandson followed son, and Neville Longbottom was heralded as one of the young heroes of the second war.

A strong sense of justice, it seemed, ran in the family: it made Draco wonder how the family could not be directly slid off to Hufflepuff, but then again, the Longbottoms were not exactly harmless creatures. Augusta Longbottom had sent Dawlish to St. Mungo's after he tried to apprehend her, apparently. _And_ the woman sort of controlled his fate at this point. Even Gryffindork Longbottom managed to lead the Old Coot's Army and sliced off Nagini's head. Draco sighed. Why was it that everyone who he once considered completely useless, utterly below him, or positively ridiculous now had some hand in his fate?

"We are here today for the trials of the Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy née Black, and Draco Lucius Malfoy. The Malfoy family has committed their crimes collectively, on the most part, and the Wizengamot court has decided to hear their testimony in collaboration but sentence them individually.

"Lucius Malfoy, you have been accused of murder, attempted murder, conspiracy to murder, dalliance in the Dark Arts, use of Unforgivable spells, acceptance of the Dark Mark, unreasonable use of magical force, concealment of Dark Objects, concealment of Death Eaters, escape from Azkaban, blackmail, improper use of Ministry powers, and giving financial aid to Death Eaters.

"Narcissa Malfoy, you have been accused of concealment of Dark Objects, concealment of Death Eaters, and giving financial aid to Death Eaters.

"Draco Malfoy, you have been accused of attempted murder, dalliance in the Dark Arts, accessory to murder, use of the Cruciatus Curse, acceptance of the Dark Mark, unreasonable use of magical force, and concealment of Dark Objects.

"All please sit," announced Augusta Longbottom and Draco smoothed his robes as he lowered himself into the chair he was provided. "We shall attempt to conduct this trial in chronological order so that we do not miss any facts, but will divert if needed. Mr. Lucius Malfoy, you have already been tried for crimes you were found not guilty of during the First Wizard War; by law, we cannot try you again for these crimes. However, because of your escape from Azkaban, we can retry the crimes that gave you that life sentence with any further evidence that has been gathered. Therefore, we will begin in 1982 and review your corruption while working for the Ministry, including crimes of blackmail, concealment of Dark Objects, and providing financial aid to Death Eaters."

Draco sighed. His father was as good as dead. Seventeen years of crimes would be held over his head and really, just one of them was enough to put him back into Azkaban for the rest of his life. The rest only shoved him closer and closer to the Dementor's Kiss. Draco could not remember much of his father's trial from the summer after his fifth year. It was a blur: all he could remember was his mother telling him to give the press no satisfaction, that they would remain calm and sober the entire time. And he did. He did not listen to the hearings until the judge announced the sentence and then he silently left the room with his mother's hand on his shoulder. Draco was given ten minutes to say goodbye to his father: it was supposed to be the last time he would ever see the man in his life and all he could remember was his father saying, "Remember, son, that you are a Malfoy." Oh, that odious, ambiguous phrase…

And now, surnames that he had recognized as his father's "associates" were all pawns in Lucius Malfoy's little games. Draco felt a cold sweat on his brow; he had helped condemn his father. Despite Draco's lack of respect for his father, he was still his father; the man had certainly shoved his only son in some fairly shitty situations and had failed to carry the cauldron in the family as of late, but like everything, it was a matter of blood. Half of him was pure Malfoy; the other half, pure Black. With a name like that, Draco figured he barely stood a chance. His father never talked about his time in Azkaban, but it showed in his face. Draco wouldn't last in there; he was too weak to survive in there for a week.

"And tell us, Mr. Malfoy," continued one particularly self-righteous judge who had been bombarding his father for minutes with cruel, tactless questions, "do you regret it? Do you regret any of it at all?"

Draco looked to his father and for a moment, the cool mask of indifference slipped. Lucius Malfoy regretted it all, every mistake that drove a wedge in his marriage, every mistake that made his own son look at him with loathing, every mistake that his father had bred him to make, every mistake that became his only son's problem… when it came to family, he regretted it all.

"I regret giving the Dark Lord my wand," he said with quiet finality. "So much would have been different…" he began to say, but the courtroom was already roaring and Lucius Malfoy's words were drowned out. Draco felt something akin to anger boil up in his stomach: why yes, _so many fucking things_ would have been different had his father had a wand, but that did not change the tattoo's on their arms, the afternoons crying to Moaning Myrtle, the nights he stayed up trying to fix that damn cabinet. It did not change the dark shadows under his father's eyes once he was broken out of Azkaban and it did not change the sad lines gently creasing his mother's face. It did not change the fact that he almost killed Dumbledore (that old coot…); it did not change the Carrow's taunting or the green curses that whipped by him in the battle. It did not change the ringing in his ears as Granger screamed, the dead body on his dining room table, the sobs from the cellar, the blood on the carpet, and the terrible feeling that his house had stopped being a home long ago. His father not having a wand did not change much of anything; they were fucked and already knee-deep in regret long before that.

"And you, Mr. Draco Malfoy, do you regret anything?"

It was the first time a question had been directed toward him and he felt his mouth suddenly go dry. He could feel his heart beat in his temples; this was an important question and dear Merlin, he _refused_ to go to Azkaban.

"Yes, everything," he wanted to reply.

"No, nothing," he tried to say. Instead what came out was this:

"If I knew everything I did now and I could go back and have the chance to do it over, nothing would change: nothing would change because I would still be unable to defy Him and risk the retaliation on my family. Regret does not change the past. So, that is to say I regret nothing. In the same vein, I regret everything."

As the courtroom was silent for a moment and then began to buzz, Draco knew he had for once in his life said the right thing. Thank Merlin for a little Slytherin self-preservation.

* * *

_(Saved By Grace)_

"Everyone is whispering. Why is everyone whispering, Tori?" Daphne leaned over to Astoria in the courtroom. Astoria had sat stiffly throughout the trial, not daring to make eye contact with anyone, not even the judge that shot an unnerving glare at her uncle when they sat down in the Wizengamot courtroom.

All students had been allowed into the courtroom for Amycus Carrow's trial and many came, all with the same motive: to watch the man who had made their lives a living hell be sentenced to death. When the deed was done, there was a collective sigh in the room. Many of them would go home to sleep a little better. Astoria had held back her grin as the "new evidence" was brought forth; the detailed detention records that she and Malfoy had stolen all but sealed Amycus Carrow's guilt.

Now, the Malfoy family's guilt was in question. Astoria rapidly decided that Lucius Malfoy would be lucky to escape the Dementor's Kiss. He had a chance to save himself when asked if he regretted anything, but his Malfoy pride seemed to overrule his Slytherin opportunism. Astoria supposed that perhaps he would have another chance of salvation; the judges seemed to refrain from asking questions about Tea Time with Potter (as she referred to the mysterious event over the spring holidays at the Malfoy Manor) and the Final Battle (everyone seemed to say it in capital letters). There was time for secrets—the redeeming kind—to spill. Until then, Lucius Malfoy had done well digging his grave… ironic, for the Malfoy men seemed to always be above manual labor.

Narcissa Malfoy née Black, however, was a portrait of grace and flawlessness. Astoria had never been quite graceful—proper enough so her mother stopped nagging her, but rather mechanical. Narcissa Malfoy commanded attention, demanded respect, and the few comments that had been directed at her during her husband's interrogation quickly established her unfailing loyalty to her family. She clearly carried the cauldron in the Malfoy Manor, such was her intimidating presence and iron fist. The only time her invincible mask fell was when her husband responded that he regretted giving the Dark Lord his wand. Her face paled for a moment as she slowly swallowed and her gaze dropped for a single moment. Then she lifted her chin and her eyes met her husband's. Lucius Malfoy's gaze seemed to say so many things, but Astoria only caught one: an apology.

Moments later, the question suddenly turned to the Great Git. She found herself holding her breath. It was the first time he had been called upon to speak during the trial and his answer caught Astoria completely off-guard that she found her jaw slightly slack.

"If I knew everything I did now and I could go back and have the chance to do it over, nothing would change," Malfoy began. "Nothing would change because I would still be unable to defy Him and risk the retaliation on my family. Regret does not change the past. So, that is to say I regret nothing. In the same vein, I regret everything."

And there it was: the Pureblood elegance softened with a touch of humility, the harsh honesty mixed with a dash of moral ambiguity—mysterious and tainted, but forgivable and pardonable. It was exactly what Malfoy needed to give him a chance. Astoria felt relieved, which oddly worried her; she rationalized that she would be rather angry with him if he tossed his life away after she had saved his. However, she did not know whether to breathe a sigh of relief for the git or laugh at his typical Slytherin move.

"Tori," Daphne persisted. "Why is everyone whispering?"

"Because, by some stroke of grace, Draco Malfoy just saved his Pureblood arse."

* * *

_(What Narcissa Did)_

The judge seemed to sputter at his surprising response and Draco had to bite back a victorious sneer. In fact, everyone seemed so confused by his response that after calling for silence, the judges hardly knew what to make of him or how to interrogate him further; so, the judges completely ignored him and turned toward his mother. They began with easy questions, about the Dark Objects stored in their house and then proceeded to the Malfoy's financial aid the Death Eaters, so that by the next set of questions, it seemed as though his mother would perhaps be pardoned.

"Since August, Death Eaters have inhabited the Malfoy Manor. Is that true?"

"That is correct."

"Did the Malfoy family offer their property as the protective household for You-Know-Who and his followers?"

"We did offer our house, but it was a forced offer. It was expected that we would offer, practically coerced out of us. The Dark Lord was already skeptical and suspicious of all his followers at the time, so it would have been a grave mistake to not extend the offer. He would have taken the house, which suited His needs over all other houses, whether we had offered or not. In the end, we had no choice but to open up our door to those… wizards," the last words seemed to taste badly on her tongue.

"Were you honored to have You-Know-Who living in your house?"

"It provided some semblance of security," she deflected.

"Answer the question, Mrs. Malfoy," snapped an impatient judge. "Did you feel honored?"

"No," Narcissa narrowed her eyes at the man for his unmannered ways.

"Then how did you feel to have You-Know-Who living in your house?" the judge persisted. Narcissa Malfoy glared with pale eyes as she considered the question.

"I felt a lack of privacy, an infringement on my family's space. I felt alert, hyper-alert to my surroundings, to the conversations around me, to every word I said and every move I made… stifled, suffocated, like an owl trapped a cage for too long. I felt like a prisoner in my own home," she folded her hands neatly in her lap. Everyone in the room seemed to reconsider the woman for a moment. Draco hoped they all took that moment to realize the oppressive atmosphere his parents had silently suffered in and a new wave of guilt washed over Draco for not being there, for being away at Hogwarts and caught up in his own survival. A judge who had been silent for most of the trial had at last spoke. She had a soft, sympathetic voice, as if she was the only one in the world who understood; her question came out breathy and gentle, enveloping the room in an encouraging embrace.

"What happened when Mr. Potter was almost caught at the Manor? What did He do to you?" With a quiet sigh, the story unfolded. His mother's serene, elegant voice filled the room; one could have heard a quill fall to the ground. Draco found his hands shaking, the ringing in his ears started again; he remembered Granger screaming… it all came back to him: his hesitation, his fear, his cowardice. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"There was a moment after they had Disapparated with our wands and it was silent in the Manor. We knew we would pay most dearly for disappointing the Dark Lord. He arrived and…" his mother paused for a moment, carefully choosing her words. If there was anyone who could garner any sympathy for Draco's family, it was his mother. And despite holding no position higher than a housewife, Narcissa Malfoy was far from dim. "He was not pleased. It is never good if He is displeased. Draco and I have the scars to prove it." Heads turned; Draco gripped the armrest of his chair until his knuckles turned white. _Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up… _"Well," she said pensively, "Draco's scars healed… his bodily scars. Mine were Darker…" she trailed off, seemed to gather her courage, then hurried on. "The spell that the Dark Lord used on me was Dark Magic and the scar remains. I am lucky I did not bleed to death." As this sunk in, the court seemed to stir alive.

"I would like to move for the entire event to be recounted from each accused from the beginning," requested one Wizengamot judge. A series of agreements quickly followed. "Mrs. Malfoy, please begin."

"Draco and my husband were taking tea together while I was searching for the House Elf. During that time, the werewolf, Greyback, entered with three children from the Snatchers. It, the werewolf, claimed that the children were Potter, Granger, and Weasley and so we called forth Draco to identify them, as they were classmates at Hogwarts."

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, did you identify them?"

"No… not really," he said lamely.

"Could you _explain_ what you mean?" a judge asked him condescendingly.

"I did not confirm it was them, nor did I deny it was them," he clarified.

"But after going to school with them for 6 years, it would be easy to tell, would it not?"

"Potter was hit with a Swelling Jinx or a similar spell."

"But the other two were in a normal state?"

"I suppose."

"So why then could you not identify them?" the judge drilled Draco.

"I do not know."

"You don't know?"

"No."

"Why?" the judge asked again and there were a few moans from other judges.

"Shall we move on from this matter and continue Mr. Draco Malfoy's testimony?" another judge drawled.

"No, this is important. Why could you not identify them?"

"I do not know."

"You do. Tell the court."

"You are mistaken."

"You are under oath, so tell us: why could you not identify them? What was happening that prevented you from doing so? A guilty conscience? Were you under threat? Why could you not identify them? Why?"

"You were not there!" Draco hissed, his anger bubbling to surface. His father narrowed his eyes at his son's outburst; Draco did not dare look at his mother. "You do not know what it was like. If I said it was them and it was not, I might as well have signed my own death certificate. The pressure…" he trailed off, not sure how to end the sentence, then decided that he could not finished it aloud. The pressure was unbearable.

"Did you know it was them?" This was a different question. Draco considered the consequences of his answer before responding.

"Yes," he said and a small gasp went through the crowd. "I recognized Potter."

"Despite the Stunning Jinx, you recognized Potter?"

"Yes."

"And you did not identify him?"

"No, I did not."

It was quiet in the court for a moment. He delivered his answers studying the floor and when he looked up, his eyes landed on a row of green-eyed wizards: Daphne Greengrass, Little Greengrass, and their uncle. Quickly, he looked away and glanced to his mother for reassurance. She gave him the slightest nod; this time, he did not dare look at his father.

"What happened next?" the question interrupted the silence of the court.

"Everyone began to argue: who would call the Dark Lord, who would retrieve the reward money, and then… and then Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange ordered everyone to stop. There was a sword, a sword she claimed to have sent to Gringotts." Draco remembered the feeling of complete insecurity at that moment, when he had realized that neither Hogwarts, his home, or Gringotts was safe; his entire family had been compromised. "After that, I was ordered to dispose of the Snatchers that Mrs. Lestrange had hexed." He did not want to recognize his dear Auntie Bellatrix as his aunt; as if _that_ would do the Malfoy family any good.

"And what did you do with them?"

"They were unconscious, so I levitated them out to the garden."

"And then what?"

"I left them there."

"You just left them? Performed no further spells?"

"I left them and returned inside a few minutes later," Draco concluded, at last making eye contact with the Wizengamot judge who had pushed these hopefully redeeming answers out of him.

"During that time, what happened, Mr. Lucius Malfoy?" His father ran a hand over his gaunt face, the skin pale from his hung-over state.

"Potter and Weasley were brought down to the cellar. Bellatrix kept the Mu—Miss Granger for questioning."

There was a noise in the crowd and Draco looked up to see the Golden Trio of Gryffindorks. The Weasel looked rather indignant while Insufferable Know-It-All Granger whispered in his ear, probably telling to shut his bloody trap (but in nicer words considering the disgusting snog Draco witnessed while in the Room of Hidden Things). Good Saint Potter seemed to stare off into the distance, not quite paying attention to the trial. Draco recognized the deep purple bags under his eyes and the heaviness of his posture; Draco looked much the same and knew the cause: horror, grief, guilt.

"What exactly did this 'questing' entail?" asked a judge, taking a hint from the Weasel's outburst.

"What Bellatrix always does: the Cruciatus," he replied in an almost bored tone. Draco ground his teeth; just the word 'Cruciatus' brought back the memories of Granger's screams and the ringing in his ears started again. He rolled his head around, trying to get it to stop, feeling his heart began to beat frantically. The next questions and responses were lost on him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment until he heard his name and his eyes snapped open. There was Granger, simply looking at him, studying him like a textbook. He tore his gaze away, then saw that everyone was watching him.

"May you please repeat the question?" he asked, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat on his brow.

"What happened when you went to fetch the goblin Griphook to identify the make of the sword?"

"I simply went down to the cellar, took the goblin, and locked the door behind me."

"And when you arrived back with the goblin, what was happening?"

"The same as I left."

"Please be more specific, Mr. Draco Malfoy."

"Mrs. Lestrange was torturing Gr—Miss Granger with the Cruciatus Curse. The goblin was not as…responsive. Then there was a crack, a noise from downstairs. I Summoned Wormtail to check and make sure all was normal. It was, and shortly after the goblin announced it was a fake, which prompted…" Draco's blood suddenly ran cold. "Which prompted Mrs. Lestrange to Summon the Dark Lord." There was a long pause and Draco did not know what to say. "Am I to continue?" he asked, not wanting to be the one to recount the next scene.

"Go on," replied a judge, much to his dismay.

"Mrs. Lestrange had no more use of Miss Granger and was about to give her to Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf, when suddenly Potter and Weasley—Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley—burst out of nowhere. It was really chaotic, very difficult to describe what passed," Draco hinted.

"Do your best," sneered a judge. (The Malfoy sneer was far superior.)

"Mr. Potter Disarmed Mrs. Lestrange," Draco began. He had to close his eyes for a moment and bring himself back to the room with the purple walls. "He then Stupefied my father, at which point I fired back to protect my family. Spells flew back and forth until Mrs. Lestrange grabbed Miss Granger and held a knife to her throat. This convinced Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley to drop their wands, which I was ordered to collect. I heard a high pitched creaking noise; I thought it was just…" Draco trailed off, not wanting to attempt to explain the ringing in his ears that made him believe that his head was about to explode. "I thought that no one else heard it until everyone looked up. Next thing I knew, the chandelier was crashing to the ground. During the chaos, Mr. Potter grabbed the wands I had retrieved—mine, Wormtail's, and Mrs. Lestrange's. He used all three wands to Stun Greyback. It was Dobby, our former House Elf, that had unhinged the chandelier. He then Disarmed my mother. A second later, and they were all gone. All of them, including the knife that Mrs. Lestrange threw at them. She hit something, I do not know what. But they were all gone and the Dark Lord was there and we had nothing, not even our wands."

After that long speech, Draco felt wordless. In his mind, he was back in that room with the feeling of doom trickling down his spine, slowly turning around in the drawing room to see those terrible snakelike eyes. He remembered the pain that followed, hearing his own screams fill the room and just wanting it to end, and then he was back in the courtroom and his hand was really shaking now and the memory of the pain was enough to vomit on the shiny marble floor, but his throat was tight, so tight that if he said one more word he was sure he would have a mental breakdown.

"The Dark Lord repeatedly tortured my son with the Cruciatus Curse to force my husband to tell what had passed. We were to be punished for letting Mr. Potter and his friends escape. Lucius could do nothing, having no wand…"

"None of you had wands at that point, no?"

"Lucius had not a wand since the summer, since the Dark Lord 'requested' to borrow it."

"And what of you, Mrs. Malfoy? Your punishment?"

"I had to stand by and watch my family crumble in their attempts to bring back our former glory and reputation, send my son back to a school that was no longer safe—"

"You nearly bled to death when He cut you," Lucius Malfoy suddenly blurt out in indignation, his snarling voice filling the courtroom. Draco felt torn between crying or smiling at his father's lingering guilt (because it was his fault and it was damn time he had acknowledged the hand he played in his family's woes).

"But I could not stand by passively much longer. That day, I promised I would protect my family: above loyalty to the Dark Lord, above reputation, above glory. Because of that, during the Final Battle when Mr. Potter was brought into the Forbidden Forest and the Dark Lord asked if the boy was dead, I replied that he was even though Mr. Potter was very, very much alive."

"The defense would like to call Mr. Harry James Potter to the stand to testify on their behalf," said one of the clerks and the entire courtroom burst into chaos.

* * *

_(For the Love of a Son)_

"Now that," said Victor, "is the definition of a plot twist."

Astoria's jaw hung open. Narcissa Malfoy, obedient wife of the most notorious Pureblood family, lying to the Dark Lord? It was unheard of.

"Doesn't surprise me," Daphne said placidly. "You forget that she is a Black. You would have to have some fight in you to be related to Bellatrix Lestrange."

Potter stood up and all eyes were on him as his lanky frame made its way toward the center of the courtroom. There were a few whoops and appreciative claps, but he seemed entirely unaffected by the attention. If anything, he seemed like all he wanted to do was bolt out of the room, and once again Astoria was surprised how absolutely normal the teenage hero looked.

"Please state your name for the official record."

"Harry James Potter."

"Wand please? Holly, 11 inches, phoenix feather. You come of your own will to testify on behalf of the accused?"

"Yeah."

"Please pull up a chair for Mr. Potter," said a clerk and almost everyone in the courtroom stood up to offer theirs.

"Erm, thanks," Potter said, clearing his throat before sitting down.

"Mrs. Malfoy claims that she lied to You-Know-Who—"

"Voldemort," Potter interjected, causing many to cringe. "Or Tom Riddle. That was his name, you know. Dumbledore said that fear of a name only increased fear of the thing itself." Granger shot him a thumbs-up in encouragement.

"Oh. Right. Mrs. Malfoy claims that she lied to Vol…"

"Voldemort."

"Yes, him, saying that you were dead when you were actually alive. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Could you explain the circumstances?"

"Voldemort used the Killing Curse on me, but he didn't kill me, he killed a bit of his soul, so when he ordered Mrs. Malfoy to see if I was dead, she could tell I was alive. She asked me if her son was alive. I said he was and she told Voldemort I was dead."

"And why do you think she did that?"

"Because she was looking after her family, I guess. I don't know, I just thought… I don't know much about Slytherins—someone pointed that out to me—but they do seem to care a lot about their families. I mean, Lucius Malfoy was in the Shrieking Shack during the battle and all he wanted to know was if his son was alive. I suppose things aren't quite as black and white as we would like them to be. The Malfoys aren't pure evil. They just made a lot of mistakes. _A lot_. But Kingsley says they have been cooperating a lot and their information has been useful. Draco and Lucius Malfoy were Death Eaters, but I don't think we should be so quick to condemn them. I mean, Malfoy—Draco Malfoy—was recruited as Death Eater simply to punish his parents in the slowest, most painful way possible. He was a pawn, a ploy in Voldemort's heartless schemes. There are a lot of untold stories on the other side," Potter concluded, suddenly finding Astoria's figure in the crowd. He gave her a nearly imperceptible nod. "We shouldn't be like Voldemort and forget our remorse. So, we have to listen to them. We have to listen to the stories of the other side."

* * *

_(Owning and Owing)_

At that moment, Draco Malfoy could have willingly shook hands with the boy who had been his childhood nemesis and bane of his existence for the past seven years of his life. Potter was not being his usual arrogant self and actually did something nice. First, the bastard had to go and save his life (twice) and then save the entire wizarding world and die and live and _shit, _Draco did not refer to him as Good Saint Potter for nothing. _Merlin_, Draco abhorred the bloke and owed him _everything._ It was awful.

His mother… his mother loved him so much that she would lie to the Dark Lord. It was nearly impossible to wrap his head around it: to love someone so much to risk your own life. Draco would do almost anything for his family, but he wouldn't die. Nor would he kill. (He certainly tried to and that just made him the unknowing master of the Elder Wand. Not ideal, to say the least.)

Potter got out of the chair and simply walked out of the courtroom, apparently unable to watch the remainder of the trial. Weaselby and Granger rushed over to him to make sure he was alright. Potter seemed to brush them off, but looked like he was about to collapse in exhaustion, so Weaselby hoisted an arm under his friend before steering him out the room. Granger looked at Draco oddly again before leaving.

"I suppose then, we will begin to address the crimes committed by Draco Lucius Malfoy. You took the Dark Mark during the summer before your sixth year, correct?"

"Yes, I had just turned sixteen."

"And what were your reasons?"

"The Dark Lord said I would gain glory," he answered hollowly. "My father was in Azkaban… I had no choice."

"But you did."

"The threats were there, albeit unspoken, had I rejected the Mark. The Dark Lord did not take kindly to having wizards say no to Him."

"Who gave you the Mark?"

"Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Your aunt?"

"Yes," Draco replied glumly.

"How were your relations with her?" It was an awkward question. As his aunt and elder, he had always been told to respect her, but frankly, she always scared the crap out of him.

"She was always too busy to trifle with me until I became useful."

"And that came during your sixth year?"

"Correct."

"Please tell the court what mission Voldemort gave you." Draco swallowed. This judge was far more direct that the others, even daring to say His name…

"I was to repair the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things to allow Death Eaters to invade Hogwarts from Knockturn Alley. I was also to murder Headmaster Dumbledore." All this was highly speculated, but never proved until Draco confessed to it. He wanted to wither under all the glares shot his way.

"And did you?"

"I managed to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. But murder… no, I could not."

"And why was that? You had no qualms letting murders into your school."

"Professor Snape killed Dumbledore under orders from Dumbledore himself," Draco answered, clenching his jaw. "Everyone but myself knew I would fail. Dumbledore tried to dissuade me, said that he could protect me and my family. But no one could do that. If Death Eaters could get into Hogwarts under Dumbledore's watch, how could that same man protect me from the most powerful wizard on the planet?" Draco could not remember the last time he had been so honest, let alone to complete strangers. They were there to judge him, to decide whether his life would merit a quick death or a long imprisonment. "I am not a murderer," he added for good measure.

"But you did torture students, did you not?"

"The Carrows ordered me to do so. I had no choice, like most of the older Slytherins."

"Other students defied the Carrows orders. Why could you not do the same?" asked one judge. It seemed obvious to Draco.

"Those other students were not Death Eaters, nor did they have direct ties to Death Eaters. When those other students defied the Carrows, they were simply punished. I and my entire family would have been killed without mercy. The other students rebelled; they were merely a nuisance. My actions would have had a different word: treason, punishable by death. Besides, my family's defection and the Hogwarts Pardon ensures that those 'crimes' will not be held against me, if I am not mistaken," he added smoothly.

"This court has witnessed the trial of Amycus Carrow," announced Augusta Longbottom. "Although we are still gathering details of what was really happening at Hogwarts during the past year, there are still many things unknown. What we have discerned, however, was that it was bad for everyone, even the Slytherins, might I add. Mr. Draco Malfoy, could you enlighten the court of the dynamic of the Slytherin House during that year?"

"We were bound to the Carrows by necessity. There were some a little more… _enthusiastic_ than others about having 'special privileges.' We were protected by our blood, but not exempt from scrutiny. We all walked a fine line. Everyone else hated us, so we kept to ourselves and looked out for our own. That is how we survived," Draco concluded, careful to not name anyone.

"And did you all survive?"

"No. And for those who did, it came at a price," he said, thinking of Little Greengrass's scarlet back, the mottled skin on his arm, and the blood oozing from Blaise's neck…

"And this plan to survive?"

"Look after our own. Cover our tracks. Keep our secrets."

"Covering your tracks… did this include stealing the detention records?" The question caught the courtroom off-guard and all peered at Draco quite intently.

"Yes," he answered almost smugly.

"But you could not have mailed them to the Ministry while you were under house arrest."

"No."

"So, you had help?"

"Yes."

"Who?" Draco's mind wandered back to that night, her hand searching for him in the dark, the way she had the faintest of smiles when she saw an entire drawer of records allocated to the Weasel twins. She had been so calm, calculated, efficient… he looked up and she was there, her pale green eyes fixed on her, waiting for him to reveal her name to the world.

"Astoria Greengrass."

* * *

_(Everybody Talks)_

As a judge called her name, Astoria slowly rose and walked to a chair that had been placed a few meters away from Malfoy. As she sat down, they studied each other for a moment. She had no idea how much to say: what secrets could she spill that would save him, or which would open the door to a cell in Azkaban.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Astoria Leto Greengrass."

"Wand?" She handed it to a clerk.

"Cedar, 10 inches, dragon heartstring."

She remembered Ollivander presenting her with her wand when she was eleven. Her mother, seeing the Yaxleys in the shop as well, insisted upon Astoria trying an elm wand, as it was rumored to be best suited to purebloods, and after her swish of magic backfired, the old man suggested that the waifish little girl probably did not quite have enough "presence." Next, her mother insisted on a darling beech wand, which rather surprised Ollivander when it did not cause as quite of a violent reaction as the first one. "Rather wise despite your years, are you, Miss Greengrass?" he mused out loud. On a whim, the old man excitedly presented her with a rarer acacia wood, which seemed to work prettily until Ollivander insisted she try one more wand.

"Should you find yourself needing a new wand when you are older, perhaps you shall grow into the acacia. But for now, humor this old man," he said, presenting Astoria with a new wand. She picked it up and gave it a swish, causing his quill pots to gallop most gallantly across his desk. He leaned toward her, looking at her like he knew her his entire life. "Dragon heartstring," he said, "for power and subtlety. Swishy, good for Charms I would imagine. Cedar, for strength of character and unusual loyalty."

"Ha ha, Tori's going to be a Hufflepuff!" Daphne laughed gleefully.

"I am not going to be a Hufflepuff!" Astoria huffed. "Mother, am I going to be a Hufflepuff? I do not want to be a Hufflepuff!"

"Oh, but I do like Hufflepuffs. The best friends one can have!" Ollivander added, seeing the fretful look on her face.

"Hufflepuff, cream puff," Daphne snickered again. Astoria glared at her sister, positively mortified.

"Well, the Sorting Hat will decide what House you belong in," the wandmaker said, switching tactics, "but let me suggest one more thing about the nature of cedar: it is always best for the dark horses, those who are very sorely underestimated and always a surprising and most fearsome adversary to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them." This made a little lopsided smile appear on young Astoria's face and seemed to please Calliope Greengrass enough to make the purchase.

Years later, the spells fired from that cedar wand were enough to save her from a fatal demise on the grounds of Hogwarts just a handful of days ago.

"Miss Greengrass, could you confirm that you aided Mr. Draco Malfoy in stealing the detention records?"

"Yes."

"And was it you who sent them to the Ministry?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why did I steal them or why I sent them to the Ministry? The second is obvious, because Amycus Carrow deserves to die for what he did to us…"

"Why did you and Mr. Malfoy steal them? What motives did you have?"

"We wanted no record of our crimes."

"_Our?_" Astoria mentally cursed herself and tried to explain without giving away too much.

"My older sister could not perform the spells that the Carrows required as punishment during these detention sessions."

"And you could?"

"I had to." There was an awkward pause in the courtroom and Astoria grew very conscious of the curious and horrified gazes directed her way. She tried her best to continue before the digression: "As you witnessed, the records were most gruesomely detailed."

"But the names of the students who administered the detentions…"

"Were erased."

"Is there a counter-spell?"

"No. That would defeat the purpose."

"Of?"

"Protecting the identities of those forced to perform the spells. We could not have known we would have been pardoned. Also, this court should not be mistaken to believe there were only Slytherins who administered those 'punishments.' Other Houses had to bend to the orders of the Carrows, too," Astoria added firmly.

"And what was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Draco Malfoy?"

"Allies," Astoria finally settled on. "But hardly even that. I kept his secrets. He kept mine."

"Secrets?"

"Yes."

"For example?" Astoria did not want to give too much away. Giving up Malfoy's secrets would be to give up her own.

"We all had doubts as to whose side we were on, if we were on the right side, the winning side, or if we did the right thing by refusing to pick a side. I saw his doubts. He saw mine. That is all."

"What did you perceive were his doubts?"

"If our actions would hurt our families… if _his _actions would hurt _his_ family," Astoria corrected. She needed to avoid talking about herself. "Would things stay just as bad if the Dark Lord prevailed? Or if Potter won, what would become of him and his family?"

"Miss Greengrass, now is not the time for secrets," Augusta Longbottom pronounced, growing tired of Astoria's subtle deflections. "If you have information that can redeem Mr. Draco Malfoy, or if you see fit, condemn him, _now_ would be the time to spill the forgetfulness potion from the cauldron."

She looked at Malfoy. He appeared as though he had not slept well the night before. His hands were folded in his lap, but she could see a few of his fingers twitching. There was an edge of desperation in his gaze: he could not go to Azkaban.

"It was the beginning of December. My parents had been staying abroad to avoid the pressure of the Dark Lord's reign, but it came to a point when they had to go entirely underground," Astoria began. "They sent me a letter, saying they had left a vault in my name to support my sister and myself, and fled. I did not hear from them again, but I knew that this would surface and the Carrows would come after me for information on their whereabouts. And they did. They…they tortured me with the Cruciatus until Professor Snape came in and stopped them. Veritaserum is less messy than the Cruciatus," she continued bluntly. "But I could not move. I was too weak and I refused to be brought to the Hospital Wing. Malfoy eventually came in and brought me back to the Slytherin common room."

"Why did you think he did that?" a judge asked. Astoria once again looked to Malfoy.

"Because if I fell, we all fell. I knew too much. There was one more incident…"

"Yes? Please explain."

"It was my birthday and my sister had got me a cake. And then the Carrows came in, requesting my assistance in the dungeons."

"How old did you turn, Miss Greengrass?"

"Sixteen," her voice suddenly grew very small. There were a few more gasps of horror. She could almost hear the whispers: _'Sixteen and casting Merlin-knows-what horrible spells!'_ She suddenly became very conscious of the makeup that Daphne had coaxed on her face; she had rubbed off most of the eyeliner and blush, not wanting to look like a little girl playing dress-up. "And the last thing I wanted to do on my birthday was… _that_. And next thing I know, Malfoy took my place."

"Because he wanted to torture students?" sneered one judge.

"Because it was _my birthday,_" Astoria corrected.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, care to comment?"

"I had just turned sixteen when I took the Mark. It… it was not fair. No one should have to perform the Cruciatus Curse on their birthday." She did not dare to look at him to see the expression on his face, but his voice sounded genuine, albeit strained.

"For two people who can hardly even be labeled as allies," said one judge shrewdly, "you seem inextricably tied." Neither Malfoy nor Astoria knew how to respond to that for a moment; what did they want, a fucking love story? As if _that _would come of them.

"Believe me, we would have been quite content had it not been so. But it simply happened that way: we both could have destroyed the other one with one slip of the tongue. To be frank, I was fairly invisible at Hogwarts and probably heard things that I should not have. Malfoy taught me Occlumency. To return the favor, I helped him cut off his Dark Mark." As the court buzzed with questions, Malfoy proceeded to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt, roll up his sleeve, and undo the bandages around his arm, quite triumphantly holding up the horribly mottled, pink skin that marred his lean white arm. "I think we are even now."

* * *

_(Burns)_

It was probably not the best idea, but the effect was immediate. He held his left arm in the air for the entire courtroom to see. The skin barely held onto his flesh; it was only a week since Madam Pomfrey had worked her magic on the charred carnage and broken veins. The skin was wavy and pink, but with a faint silver glow that told of magical damage from Dark spellwork. The scar would never fade, the Healer had told him; he didn't care. He'd rather have a scar than that horrible tattoo. It was like what Nott said all those months again: that they were all marked, albeit in different ways.

Luckily, there was a Healer in the courtroom to perform a few healing spells to the delicate skin that had torn as he took off the bandage. Once the wound was re-wrapped and he had been allowed a few sips of water to clear his woozy head, he looked over to the Tiny Terror. Little Greengrass was, above all things, _little_: all hollow eyes, bony shoulders, fading bruises, and sharp cheekbones in a hand-me-down dress from her sister.

"And how," asked one extremely incredulous judge with a laughing scoff, "does one cut off a Dark Mark, Miss Greengrass?"

"The same way one peals a potato," Little Greengrass replied snarkily, dully glaring at the judge who was clearly not prepared for such a direct and vivid answer. Draco would have sworn the man turned a little green.

"And how did all… _this _come about?" asked another judge.

"I went to the boy's dormitories in the morning after the battle to check on a friend. He needed water, so I went to the boy's lavatory, where I found Malfoy with a razor blade to his arm. I guessed his motives and… and owed him the favor."

He noticed how she deftly left out the favor that Draco had kept hidden for so long: that he had covered for her when the Dark Lord had expressed an interest in her. In a small way, he had lied to the person he feared most; it was not as blatant as the lie his mother told the Dark Lord to protect him, but it was telling enough. And Draco did not even mind that Little Greengrass had skimmed over the detail. He knew. She knew. That was enough for him. And she was probably protecting herself anyway.

"A few Silencing Charms, a Sticking Charm, blood replenishing potion, a cauterizing potion, and a little fire did the trick," she said bluntly. Someone in the courtroom gagged. After a pause: "He lost a lot of blood. There was a second when I thought he would…" she trailed off. "Professor Slughorn found me. Next thing I know, I was in the Headmaster's office with Professor McGonagall. That is all."

"Why did you do it, Mr. Draco Malfoy?"came the quiet question from a judge.

"I did not want to be His servant," Draco replied with equal quietness.

"And you thought a knife would counter such Dark Magic?"

"I had to try."

"You could have died."

"I did not care, I wanted it gone. I felt… _ashamed_ of it. I did not truly want to be a Death Eater in the first place and I sure did not want to be one for the rest of my life," he responded slowly but firmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother's lips turn upward: she was pleased with his answer.

There was a quiet lull in the court as they considered everything. Little Greengrass shifted uneasily, pushing back her shoulders and lifting her head for a satisfying crack. She rubbed the oddly tinged skin on her neck; Draco realized it was a bit of makeup to cover a bruise.

"Are there any other questions for Miss Greengrass?"

"You were there, weren't you?" asked a judge who had not said a word the entire trial.

"Pardon?" Little Greengrass narrowed her brows.

"You were at the Battle. You fought, didn't you?" the wizard inquired, tapping his silver fingers against his lips—it was a magical prosthetic.

"I did," she gulped.

"You came back with the Nott boy. Yaxley tried to kill you. That's what Kingsley said, anyway," the judge mused. "He was beside Flitwick when the professor took on Yaxley in order to let two of his students escape from the Death Eater. One, he said, was the Nott boy. The other… he said it was one of those things that he wouldn't forget, because the girl couldn't have been older than 16 and had eyes the same color as the Killing Curse that whizzed past her head." The courtroom was so quiet that the only sound was the scribble of the court reporter's quill. Little Greengrass looked like she wanted to bolt.

"Well," one judge broke the silence with a nervous laugh, "we are not here to question Miss Greengrass' actions. Any more questions from the jury for the young lady regarding Mr. Draco Malfoy? None? Well, Miss Greengrass, would you like to add anything?" She shook her head quite fervently. "Then you may… return to your seat," he finished, but she was already briskly walking back to her sister mid-sentence, desperate to get rid of the stares of the courtroom.

"I suppose, then, that brings us to the following question: what were _you_ doing during the Battle, Mr. Draco Malfoy?"

The words just ended up tumbling out.

"Our Marks had been moving for days: Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle. There were whispers that Potter was in the castle…"

He skipped over some parts, like when Little Greengrass gave him that hard look and told him he would never find Potter or the sound of Crabbe's dying screams and when he threw up on the grounds. The Aurors had made him tell what he had done during his deposition, so it was easier this time around. But still, it was so fresh and he kept on having to stop and push back the images that had lingered behind his closed eyes every night and the words kept tumbling and tumbling out and it was not until he finished that he recognized that Little Greengrass had stood up and walked out when he revealed that he had released the Carrows. The guilt returned and made his stomach churn… but he continued on until he talked about His cool voice telling them that Potter was dead, the final standoff on the grounds, finding his parents, and the satisfaction that his wand had killed the Dark Lord.

"Anything else you would like to add Mr. Draco Malfoy?"

"We have told the court and Aurors everything. All bridges have been burned. I did the wrong thing, but for the right reason: to protect my family. I do not suspect that I will ever be forgiven for what I have done," he dared to continued, "but I do ask for empathy."

And with that, he folded his hands and waited.

* * *

_(The Consequence of Green Eyes)_

In the end, Little Greengrass came back just minutes before his sentence was delivered. As the judges had retired to another room, Draco was able to spend a few precious moments with his mother and father, quietly huddling and unable to say a word. He hugged his mother, holding onto her thin frame. She had lost weight since Christmas. His father was sober. He had not been that way for a week. At one point, a judge came in and pulled his mother aside. They conferred for a moment as Narcissa nodded.

"It is for the best," was all she said as an explanation when she came back. None of them found words after that.

For a moment as the Wizengamot was deciding his fate, Draco Malfoy found a pair of green eyes in the audience, the same pair that belonged to the girl who he had silently permitted to divulge his secrets to the court. It was just a moment and in that moment, he began to realize how things could change. He could be sent to Azkaban and his world would turn grey; he had been living in a grey zone the past two years of his life, but to be wholly consumed by it—to have it seep into his every pore—seemed more unbearable than the harshness of a blinding white and the darkness of the deepest black. There would be no green in Azkaban, he thought.

There would be no green of the Tiny Terror's eyes or the apples in the kitchen produce basket. There would be no yellow of his mother's gold jewelry or the pages of the old books in the library. There would be no purple of the drawing room walls or blue of the sky on a clear day in Wiltshire. There would be no orange of the sunrise or of the leaves in the fall and there would be no red of the roses in the Malfoy gardens.

His heart pounded and time slowed to a halt. In that moment, when he caught Little Greengrass's gaze, the court announced for them all to rise and Draco felt his body move on its own accord.

"The defendant, Draco Lucius Malfoy, has been charged with the crimes of attempted murder, dalliance in the Dark Arts, accessory to murder, use of the Cruciatus Curse, acceptance of the Dark Mark, unreasonable use of magical force, and concealment of Dark Objects. We, the Warlocks of the Wizengamot, find the defendant _guilty_."

* * *

_(Evening of May 10__th__, Greengrass Estate)_

"Well, the Malfoys got lucky, didn't they?" Victor attempted to make small talk over dinner. Daphne had forced Astoria to attend, even though she was not hungry. "I bet Narcissa made a deal with that judge to have their punishments be more equal."

"Of course she did," Daphne said warmly and Alastair drawled at the same time.

"One year of house arrest. Lucius Malfoy will never hold a wand again, and his wife and his son not for another two years. Heavy fines to cut their fortune more than in half, various properties and assets seized. The son's trust fund on heavy conditions and the entire family subject to periodic checks for the next five years. Oh, and no House Elves. Can you imagine Narcissa Malfoy trying to cook or clean _anything?_" Victor asked, causing his partner to snort.

"You should have stayed, Tori," Daphne said quietly.

"To see just how much my testimony saved the git who set the Carrows free to prey on me during the battle? Oh yes, I bet it would have been a marvelous show," Astoria snarled.

"I am going to petition for visitor rights. The Malfoys are going to need support and we should be charitable!" Daphne righteously suggested.

"The Malfoys have reaped what they have sown," Alastair advised.

"You should forgive him, Tori. It's the gracious thing to do." Astoria glared at her sister.

"Damn grace. I will forgive him the day that Alecto Carrow's face is not in my nightmares."

* * *

_(Evening of May 10__th__, Malfoy Manor)_

Most of the house had been gutted and assets seized. His mother found a record and placed it on the phonograph to allow the tinkling of a piano fill the empty space. His father walked directly to his study, presumably to drown his sorrows in Firewhiskey. His mother squeezed his shoulder and left the room as the Auror who was assigned to look after their family at night strolled into the house.

"Well, it's a manor, alright," he said glancing around. "Killian McMorrow is me name. Goin' to make sure no one murders you in your sleep."

"Comforting," Draco drawled. The Auror studied him.

"It's a good thing I don't mind smartass comments. I'm a bit o' a smartass me self," McMorrow shrugged. "Ye look like shite, lad. Come outside with me to get some fresh air."

"As relieved as I am that you are here 'to make sure no one murders us in our sleep,'" Draco sneered, "I do not want to talk to you about my feelings or how bleeding grateful I am that the Wizengammot did not toss my sorry arse into Azkaban along with the rest of my school mates."

"It's not like I was asking ye if ye wanted to braid each other's hair and talk about pretty lassies. Although if my daughter got a hand on your hair, she would be chuffed as can be," the Auror mused. "And ye shouldn't be grateful to the Wizengammot, but to the little Greengrass girl and Potter for making ye look partially human. But we aren't goin' to talk about feelings, are we?" Draco shook his head and they went outside to sit on the steps.

"Holy Hufflepuff, those blighters are _loud!"_ McMorrow exclaimed. "What, ye haven't heard them before?" Apparently, the grounds of the Malfoy Manor were home to a Merlin-forsaken amount of crickets.

"The windows are never open." McMorrow snorted.

"Well, that explains _a lot_."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"There is a reason why most people don't like your family much."

"There are _many _reasons why most people do not like my family much."

"Touché, lad," McMorrow waggled a finger. "Ye know, by the time this year is over, we just may be braidin' each other's hair!" Draco looked at the Irishman blankly. "Or not."

_It seems that all my bridges have been burned_

_But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works._

_-"Roll Away Your Stone", Mumford & Sons_


	23. Ch 17: TraitorsTrials&Tribulations P2

_Author's Note:_

_Well, my last year as an undergraduate has started with a bang. Hence, the lack of prompt updates. On the bright side, I have been accepted to a writing minor, got two internships, met some new friends, and have gotten back into fiction writing. Yay!_

_On this chapter-_

_I have so much love for "Valastair", aka Victor/Alastair. They are awesome and you should love them too. So much snark, so little time._

_Not much Malfoy in this chapter. Sorry friends. But some of you said you missed Astoria last chapter, so this will make up for it._

_If you are interested, the first song Daphne plays on the piano is "Sky Dancing" by Patrick Watson. The second is "To Build a Home" by the Cinematic Orchestra featuring Patrick Watson. They are both beautiful and I think listening to them adds to the reading experience._

_There are other stories about Harry Potter and Nietzsche. The one that inspired me to write this chapter was "The Nietzsche Classes" by Beringae. It's awesome and you should definitely read it. It got me thinking and I decided to put my own spin on it. Instead of discussing Nietzsche's philosophies in terms how they were warped by Nazism, I decided to use them as a reason for Theo Nott's attempt to manipulate everyone around him._

_Also, the reader MostlyVanilla is awesome. Not only did she use the excellent word "tsundre" to describe Astoria and Draco's relationship (look it up-I had to), she also drew an awesome drawing of Astoria that captures perfectly her hair and eyes. You can all see it on her DeviantArt site. Her username is "elalendi"._

_A suggestion while reading the chapter: keep an eye on the dates. It doesn't jump around too much, but when it does, it's important. Building suspense and all that jazz. All in all, I hope you enjoy the chapter! It's nice and long. Don't forget to review! (Thanks to the 46 reviewers. I was utterly blown away by everyone's kind words. You guys are the BEST!)_

* * *

**ON THE OTHER SIDE**

_Chapter 17: The Tale of Three Traitors, or "Trials and Tribulations"_

Part 2: Nott and Nietzsche, or "The Lie is a Condition of Life"

"So all along you had a plan." It was a statement, not question.

"Yes," he said after a long hesitation.

"You watched it all go down; you watched my parents fall and you saw an opportunity."

"Yes. They had chosen their fate."

"And what about me? You _used_ me."

"Of course I did. We are Slytherins. It is what we do."

"You fed me to the wolves." A pause. "You manipulated me, Theo."

"Of course I did, Astoria. It was easy, almost too easy. There is a reason why books are burned. Literature is terribly potent," he mused to himself.

"And I suppose you are pleased with yourself, then."

"Well, we are alive, are we not?"

* * *

_(Evening May 14, eight days prior)_

The piano, which had been tinkling all week, was silent. However, Daphne remained sitting there, fingers expertly placed on the keys is if to begin a piece, but without any intention of moving. She had played the same heartbreaking melody all week—a song that sounded like snow falling, forgotten cups of tea, and forbidden dreams.

Astoria sat down beside her and attempted to play the opening notes from memory. Daphne let out a little laugh.

"Have I been playing it too much?"

"It sounds lovely," Astoria assured her. "It always sounds lovely when you play."

"You're just being nice," Daphne bowed her head.

"How often am I nice?" Astoria arched a brow.

"Well, you're not _mean_, Tori. People just don't see you the way I do."

"People see what they want to see," Astoria shrugged. Daphne was pensive for a moment.

"Do you think they are going to send Blaise, Pansy, and Gregory back to Azkaban? Draco avoided it and I think he probably did a lot worse things than the others."

"I do not know, Daphne. We will find out tomorrow."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, sinking her finger on a key, letting its note reverberate.

"Me too."

* * *

_(May 11, one day after the Malfoy Trial)_

Draco Malfoy stirred the next morning in his bed. Realizing he was finally back in the Manor, he went to grab his wand from the underside of the pillow, only to find it was not there. There was a moment of panic before he remembered it was gone—_ confiscated, abolished, banned, seized_.

Gone.

Draco rolled over, not wanting to open his eyes and face the day until his stomach growled. Did he even have dinner last night…?

He pulled on an undershirt and a pair of pants from his school trunks, smoothing his hair as he walked down the ebony stairs. He sat down at the dining room table for a moment and waited. On the table, he saw the front page of the _Prophet _with its blaring headline: "Malfoy Family Pardoned from Azkaban." The front picture was of him with his left arm raised in the air for all to see that he had no Mark. Little Greengrass sat with ramrod posture, her gaze shifting from the spectators, Draco's arm, and the triumphant smirk on his face. He sat for a moment longer before he remembered that no House Elf would bring him his food so he walked into the kitchen to find his mother, father, and a woman talking together.

"All this would be much easier if we just hired a cook," his father sipped on his morning tea.

"Well, the Ministry will never allow it," said his mother.

"So, the Ministry can now tell us what we may or may not purchase?"

"No, but the Ministry can say who can and cannot enter this house," the lady said exasperatedly. "And hiring a cook would be defeating the purpose of forbidding a House Elf."

"This is a _mockery_…"

"Draco, good morning," his mother interrupted his father's growl. "This is Elaine Kendrick. She is the Auror on-duty from early morning to noon."

"Hello, Draco," the woman smiled at him.

"Good morning," he nodded his head, trying to be polite. "Mother…"

"Yes, I know, dear. You will… just take whatever you want from the pantry for breakfast. Hot water for tea is in the kettle." Draco froze for a moment before slowly turning on his heel. After staring at the pantry for a few moments, he found a loaf of bread, jam, some fruit, and a few eggs.

"Where are the plates?" he asked sheepishly.

"Top right cabinet," Auror Kendrick said, gestured with her blonde, pixie-cut head.

"Thank you. Mother, might we be able to cook some eggs?"

"Draco, now is not a good time," Narcissa Malfoy rubbed her temples. "Elaine has been so kind to help re-stock the kitchen and teach me how to use the mechanical cooking instruments, so it is a rather busy morning." Draco frowned: was cooking eggs that difficult? They go in a pan and light the stove with a simple _Incendio_… right, no cooking spells. The eggs could wait.

"Butter?"

"Icebox," pointed Kendrick.

"Knives?"

"Butter knife? Paring knife? Serrated knife?"

Draco simply gaped at the Auror. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

_(May 12)_

The tinkling melody from the piano room made Astoria sleepy as she tried to concentrate on the family financial documents. She sipped on her umpteenth cup of tea, hoping that the caffeine would help. She had not gotten too much sleep, staying up until midnight, bolting up in the middle of the night with nightmares, and rising with the sun to straighten out the Greengrass accounts. Tired of staring at the same things over and over again, she grabbed a handful of documents and went to show them to Daphne.

Astoria entered the room, seeing her sister's blonde curls bowed over the shiny black instrument, her long fingers caressing the white keys. She sat down next to her on the bench and let her finish. Daphne did and flashed Astoria her trademark brilliant smile that made the boys at Hogwarts trip in the hallways.

"What is the latest discovery? Newest accomplishment?"

"All the estate spending is clear—I finished that yesterday. I am going through the investments now and I do not know half of the people or companies where our money was going to, so I have to look into that."

"You should have them come to the house and make them entirely re-pitch why we should be investing in them. That way we know where our money is going," Daphne suggested. Astoria slowly nodded her head, surprised by the idea.

"…that is actually a brilliant idea."

"It'll be so much fun!" Daphne clapped. "We can play good-Auror bad-Auror and make them believe that I am the sweet one in charge, giving them scones and tea, while you can just glare at them," she excitedly spoke as her fingers played a mysterious, tension-building melody. "And then…" she banged her fingers on the keys, "they'll find out _you _are the one actually in charge!"

"If anyone questions why you were a Slytherin, you ought to cite this moment."

"I know!" she grinned at Astoria, her aqua green eyes wide with satisfaction. "I can write some letters this afternoon to the companies—I'll just need names and addresses."

"Thank you, Daph. That really helps," Astoria sighed.

"How are you?"

"Fine, just tired. How are you?"

"A little worried about Blaise, Pansy, and Gregory, to be honest. But I'm trying to keep myself busy, so that's… good. I was thinking it would be fun to plant a garden. You know, flowers and vegetables and herbs."

"That sounds brilliant, Daph."

"You really think so?" the blonde asked. Astoria gave an encouraging nod. "Not silly or anything?"

"Why would it be silly?"

"I don't know. Just maybe, I feel like I should be doing something more important. So many people died," she began to tear up, "people who did great things and could have done great things and now I feel like there's this gaping hole in the world that needs to be filled up with goodness, and so what I am I doing here? Why is Tracey Davis dead and I am alive? She was better than Pansy, Millicent, and I combined and it seems so _wrong,_" she began to hiccup. "People died and I want to grow flowers."

"Flowers are fine," Astoria sighed. "Flowers are more than fine. They make people smile, right?" Daphne cracked a small grin.

"I suppose so. Just leave those names and addresses here and I'll do them in the next few hours."

"Thank you, Daph," Astoria squeezed her sister's shoulder.

"Anything to make your load a little lighter."

* * *

_(May 13, morning)_

"You really ought to free Dop." Astoria looked up from the newspaper at her uncle incredulously.

"Why? He has been with the family since I can remember. He was here when _you _were a child," Astoria retorted to her uncle.

"It is an archaic practice, Astoria."

"If it was really that 'archaic' as you imply, Hogwarts would have freed their elves long ago." Alastair adjusted his fedora.

"Hogwarts does give their elves very good working conditions, but employment should be an option, not an order."

"Dop is treated just as well here as he would be at Hogwarts. He has food, never a cross word, and he is allowed to wash his pillowcase every single day. Dop _likes_ it here. Where would he go if we freed him?"

"He could stay and work for wages," Alastair suggested as Victor strolled in.

"Talking about Dop?" the writer asked. "Because the last time you suggested wages, I am fairly sure the poor creature started wailing."

"Thank you, Victor," Astoria said at the same time Alastair quipped, "Not helping, Victor."

"Did someone summon Dop? More tea?" beamed the House Elf, suddenly appearing in the room. There was a collective sigh. "Mistress Astoria, Dop found this jumper on the floor of the study. Should Dop wash it?" he asked, holding up the green jumper Astoria had picked out from her father's closet.

"No!" Astoria cried out frantically before correcting her tone. "I mean, no, not this one. Please do not wash this jumper unless I specifically ask. Thank you, Dop, for inquiring. I will take it."

"Dop is most happy to serve and please the Greengrass family and good friends like Mister Victor!" the House Elf chirped, his eyes wide with joy.

"See what I mean?" Astoria gestured to her uncle. "If we freed Dop—"

"Mistress Astoria wants to free Dop?" his eyes, once bright with happiness, filled with tears. "Is Mistress Astoria displeased with Dop?"

"No, that is—"

"Is Mistress Daphne disappointed that I had not ironed her shirt? Or is Master Alastair sad that Dop did not try to find him after he went away? Or is Good Friend Mister Victor mad that I forgot how Good Friend Mister Victor takes his tea?"

"No, Dop…"

"Dop tries so very hard to do his very _very_ best for the Greengrasses and good friends! The Greengrasses are so kind to Dop that he never _ever_ wants to leave!" he rolled on the floor and sobbed.

"Look what you did now," Astoria said dryly to her uncle.

"Dop would rather _die_ rather than feel such dishonor from being freed from his family!" he released a succession of hiccupping wails.

"Now, Dop, that is a bit dramatic," Alastair attempted to say soothingly. "You do not really prefer to die, do you?" Dop widened his eyes before proceeding to glance around the room for the nearest sharp object.

"Apparently so," mused Victor as Alastair wrestled a candelabra from Dop's tiny, but powerful grip.

"Dop will not attempt to kill or maim himself!" Alastair said sternly and Dop suddenly stopped struggling.

"A bit hypocritical, do you not think so?" Astoria crossed her arms.

"It was for his own safety," Alastair replied snarkily.

"Do the mistresses and master really want to free Dop?" the House Elf whimpered.

"No, we do not," Astoria said and glared at her uncle to say something supportive.

"We love having you with our family, Dop," he relented, causing Dop's tears to disappear.

"Dop will be extra good all week to thank the Greengrass family for their kindness and generosity toward Dop, even though Dop sometimes forgets how Good Friend Mister Victor takes his tea!" Victor attempted to assure Dop that is was a forgivable mistake, but Dop continued his outburst about making fresh bread all week and cleaning the windows and oiling all the wood furniture before skipping out the room.

"Well, that was exciting!" Victor clapped Astoria and Alastair on the back before leaving. It was silent for a moment.

"You may admit that I am right any time," Astoria said snootily.

"That is Thomas' jumper," Alastair pointed to the green jumper in Astoria's arms.

"Yes, it is your brother's," she said. "What of it?" Alastair merely cocked his fedora in reply. "Look, I will make you a deal: if Hogwarts frees their elves, I will serious consider freeing Dop and offering him wages. But as of now, the mere idea obviously makes him extremely distraught and even suicidal, so I would appreciate it if you did not bring up the idea again."

"I will honor that," Alastair nodded. "Thank you for being open-minded."

"Well, I still have documents to review…"

"Right. Well, carry on." They stiffly parted ways before Alastair called out to Astoria: "I miss him too." She barely caught the celery green eyes of her uncle hidden under his fedora before he slipped out of the doorway. Astoria sank into the nearest chair, running her hands across the fabric. She brought the jumper up to her nose: scotch, cigar smoke, old books. Thank Merlin that had not changed.

* * *

_(May 13, afternoon)_

It did not take long for his mother to grow tired of doing everything herself and recruiting Draco to help her prepare and clean up meals.

"Next, we will learn how to clean this house. Although it is really quite unmanageable without a House Elf, even Elaine agrees, and she suggested we downsize."

"Father will not like that idea," Draco said as he awkwardly rinsed a plate.

"If he is not the one cleaning it, he should not be allowed to complain," Narcissa replied coldly, furiously scrubbing a pot.

Draco was not particularly fond of doing a House Elf's work either, but he knew better than to complain. The Malfoy patriarch had been absent since the conclusion of the trial, only to come out for meals and to argue Ministry politics with the Aurors. The Aurors, in turn, seemed to only swallow the belittlement because they were "well-paid to protect the most despised wizard family in all of the United Kingdom," according to Auror Killian McMorrow, who came for the first night shift. Draco had started warming up to the Auror after a few nights. The Irishman was chatty at first, but never questioned Draco's silences, which the young Malfoy appreciated. Even Auror Elaine Kendrick (the pixie-cut blonde who took the morning shift) brightened up the dark manor a bit with her kind smile. Draco knew that his mother rather liked Auror Kendrick for her patience showing her how to manage the Manor without magic.

"I do appreciate your help, Draco," Narcissa said, her dark eyes softening briefly. "I know it is neither ideal nor becoming of our stature, but I want you to know that I appreciate your assistance."

Draco did not know quite what to say upon seeing his mother look so sad and desolate that he briefly wrapped his arms around her before continuing to rinse the plates.

"We should ask the Aurors if we may send a letter to Mrs. Zabini," Narcissa said suddenly. "She must being in despair without her son." The plate Draco had been rinsing clattered to the bottom of the sink, chipping as it clipped the side. _Blaise._

"Draco!"

"I heard a crash. Is everything alright?" Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared in the kitchen.

"Yes, Father, I just dropped a plate."

"You should not _have_ to wash plates, Draco," the man chided. Draco's mind was too far away to retort. _Goyle._

"Lucius…" Narcissa began. The afternoon Auror, a burly man with the surname Owens, poked his head in the kitchen. Seeing that nothing dangerous had transpired and his presence was not desired, he quickly backed out of the room as Lucius continued his tirade.

"I will not apologize for being concerned about my son's living conditions. This is an outrage!" _Pansy._

"We must adapt to our current means! I certainly do not like it either, but I refuse to—"

"Refuse to what, Narcissa? Resign ourselves to such destitution? Because you did not even seem to fight it…"

"_Do not say that!_" she cried shrilly. "They were going to send you to Azkaban for the rest of your _life_!" angry tears began to build up in her eyes. Draco had never seen such a blatant display of emotion from his mother. "They were going to not let Draco have a wand for another _five years_! But as for I? They were only going to give me a _fine_. That was it. So do not say that I did not fight for you, for us, for this family, because I gave my _freedom_ to this family! I gave my freedom after being a slave to the Dark Lord for far too long, Lucius. I have fought. _You _are the one who has resigned."

Lucius' silver eyes were hard, hollow, and sad all at the same time before he stormed out of the room.

It was very quiet that night. Draco's mind whirled with thoughts about his parents' argument, his mother's sacrifice, and Blaise, Goyle, and Pansy. He did not even decline when Auror McMorrow offered him a cigarette that evening on the front steps of the Manor, watching the smoke dance in the air and feeling its soothing effects as it filled his lungs.

"What a day," the Irishman sighed. "I didn't know ye smoked."

"Me neither."

"Your mum is not going to be pleased with me for offerin' ye a fag."

"Probably not, but I am an adult," Draco shrugged.

"Ye look mighty po-faced. Shitty day?"

"That is quite accurate," Draco said, taking a drag. "Good thing we do not talk about our feelings. That would be just messy and bothersome, not to mention tiring and generally naff."

"Ye and I would be two peas in a pod if I were not paid to babysit ye. And if ye weren't practically a tyke. And if everyone didn't hate ye family…"

"Stop while you are ahead, McMorrow."

* * *

_(May 13, evening)_

Astoria rubbed her eyes and stared at the document again. No, it couldn't be. She shook her head and looked again. Was it real? Was it coded? Because it couldn't be true. Well, it _could_, but it was so much, almost too much… she had to tell her sister.

"Daph? Daphne! Are you home? _Daphne!_"

"What?" the blonde asked exasperatedly.

"Look at this."

"What is it?"

"Just look," Astoria shoved the paper under her sister's eyes. Daphne read over the paper, her eyes widening.

"This can't be true."

"That is what I thought, but…"

"But it could be."

"I _know_."

"But you are the one better with these things! I mean, it could not even be… _that. _It could be something entirely different, hidden, coded, I don't know!"

"But it could be what it is. It could be just that. But did you know anything about it? Did Mother or Papa mention anything to you?"

"No," Daphne breathed. "This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you."

"They bought us a Greek island."

_(May 14, morning)_

Needless to say, the Malfoys were not expecting any sort of post, so when an owl swooped in that morning, Auror Kendrick was highly suspicious. The entire Malfoy family took their tea while watching the pixie-cut blonde perform spell after spell on the now irritated owl before shooing the creature off and repeating another battery of spells on the letter itself. At last, the Auror opened up the letter, read through its contents, and finally presented it to Narcissa Malfoy.

"I don't think it'll explode," she said with a grin as Draco's mother daintily took the letter and read the elegant, looping words.

"How lovely, a letter from Miss Greengrass."

"Greengrass?"

"Little Greengrass?" the men of the house interjected.

"Miss _Daphne_ Greengrass," Narcissa clarified with a sigh. "She writes inquiring our wellbeing during these difficult times and queries how she and her sister may acquire visitation rights, as 'these turbulent times call for unity, friendship, and making amends.' Would you not agree, Elaine?" Auror Kendrick shrugged.

"The Greengrasses _technically_ have a clean record. It may actually be possible to arrange."

"We cannot have a House Elf, but the Greengrasses may have tea with us?" snorted Lucius Malfoy.

"It is a benevolent gesture, isn't it Draco? And look how lovely the penmanship is. Daphne Greengrass is a very pretty young woman."

"Mother."

"So, House Elves are a bad influence on our family, but the Greengrass girls will make us into better members of society?" Lucius continued to rant.

"Well, that Daphne Greengrass sounds like a bird with a kind heart," Auror Kendrick said with a smile.

"I will have you know that the younger sister is a downright _terror,_" Draco interrupted.

"Draco, do not be so dramatic," Narcissa sighed, pouring herself another cup of tea. "I doubt she is as wretched company as you make her to be. Besides, even if she is, her older sister is probably adept in overcompensating the charm her younger sister lacks."

"It may be nice to have some people your own age to talk to," Auror Kendrick added.

"The poor things have no parents, too. They must be terribly lonely," Narcissa supplied with a sympathetic sigh that seemed to tug at the Auror's heart.

"Mother."

"I'll see about putting in the paperwork," Auror Kendrick nodded, causing Narcissa to produce a very feline smile.

"Mother," Draco growled again.

"You will thank me in ten years," she declared before gliding out of the room.

"Father," Draco supplicated to Lucius Malfoy.

"Maybe they can cook," the blonde wizard shrugged before returning to a book on potion ingredients. Draco looked down at his watery eggs. His breakfast was _still_ better than the company of Little Greengrass, he decided, and hoped that he would not get food poisoning as he cleaned his plate.

* * *

_(May 14, evening)_

"Do you think they are going to send Blaise, Pansy, and Gregory back to Azkaban? Draco avoided it and I think he probably did a lot worse things than the others."

"I do not know, Daphne. We will find out tomorrow."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, sinking her finger on a key, letting its note reverberate.

"Me too."

* * *

_(May 15, morning)_

The two girls Disapparated to the guest entrance of the Ministry of Magic and made their way down to the courtrooms of the Wizengamot. Goyle's trial was first, followed by Parkinson and then Zabini. Daphne betrayed no emotion at first, seeming to copy Astoria's controlled, albeit feigned indifference. That week, the trials had gotten quicker and quicker as Aurors and those at the Battle shared their memories and recollections. Soon, there was little mystery of the horrors that had passed that evening.

Goyle's trial was quick, with Aurors' testimonies of just how many people he had struck down in the Battle. For the first time Astoria ever remembered, Gregory Goyle looked rather small. Azkaban had not treated him well. Horace Slughorn's testimony how he was young and too impressionable did not do much for his case. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Parkinson had also been deeply affected by her few weeks in Azkaban. She looked insane, with her hair in disarray and her eyes wide. As the trial progressed, she grew increasingly unhinged. All of her former slick grace was gone, and all was left was a girl too proud and hysterical to attempt self-preservation. Parkinson, sly and calculating Parkinson, was the only Slytherin truly devoted to the Dark Lord and she wanted the world to know it.

"_Yes_, I exterminated the filthy little mudblood," she snarled, rolling her eyes. "We are better off without them and I do not regret it."

"I almost didn't recognize her," Daphne hollowly whispered as the jury deliberated. "She's changed so much."

"That is what Azkaban will do to a witch," Astoria said.

"But I can't believe that—"

"Daphne, you have to. I know she was your friend for a long time, but… it is not just Azkaban. Parkinson is plenty smart to talk her way out of a heavy sentence. But she will not and you need to accept that." Daphne sniffled and Astoria began to feel bad for being so blunt. "You are so nice, Daphne, and you will make new friends. I bet Bullstrode—"

"Pansy went after you in the Battle, didn't she?" Daphne sadly asked her sister. Astoria simply nodded, her hand absentmindedly touching the scar across her hipbone. "I'm sorry," Daphne choked.

"It is alright," Astoria whispered back as the judges announced Parkinson's life sentence in Azkaban.

Blaise Zabini's trial followed. Daphne sat up a little straighter and a small furrow appeared between her eyebrows as she studied the young man. Astoria tried to look a little closer. Zabini had a similar wild look in his eyes like Parkinson did, but it was touched more by fear than insanity. As he answered the questions by the judges, he was caught between his usual, cocky indifference and desperation to get out of Azkaban.

"Name?"

"Blaise Salvatore Zabini."

"Wand?"

"My dear friend Draco Malfoy took it off of my unconscious form," he pouted melodramatically. "It was a charming spruce. Ollivander called it a rather charismatic wand," he added with a lazy grin. "Supposedly intensely loyal as well, but that night was quite the evening for switching loyalties."

"And what of your loyalties, Mr. Zabini?"

"Who else should I be loyal to but myself and my own interests?" he asked the court with a wicked grin, winking at a reporter.

"And what were your own interests?"

"Not being ordered around, obviously," he rolled his eyes. Suddenly he softened. "My friend Draco was inside and I wanted to talk some sense into him, get him out of there. If he had just stayed out of the way… we weren't even supposed to be there…" he trailed off. Then as quickly as he had softened, Zabini hardened up and bragged, "It was easy enough to get back to Hogwarts by fooling the silly Gryffindors into thinking that I was going to fetch the Creevey kid." Astoria's hand trembled in anger.

The entire trial continued in the same tumultuous way. The judges seemed to be caught by his odd betrayals of vulnerability and Zabini's blasé attitude. Some tried to propose questions that would bring about more sympathy while others thought he was just as shameless and guilty as Parkinson. Aurors testified how he went on an insane rampage, firing spells at Aurors and Death Eaters alike. Katie Bell talked about how Zabini had saved her by Stunning Amycus Carrow when the brute was carving into her back. Horace Slughorn was evidently tired of defending his students, only to have them go to Azkaban, and could hardly answer the judge's questions about Zabini's participation in the Carrows' detentions.

"The Battle? But honestly, it really was just a lot of running around," he explained his participation with nonchalance. "First, I found Goyle and Draco and I told Draco that his parents were in Hogsmeade and it was best to get out of the castle, but then he figured out I was lying and decided that the Carrows would know where his parents were, so then we had to go to Ravenclaw Tower," he ticked off the events lazily on his fingers. "And frankly, I am a fantastic lover, not a fighter, so a battle was not exactly my cup of tea and Draco said that if I freed the Carrows, he would get us out of there…"

"You used the Imperius Curse," supplied one judge. Zabini nodded as it is was as obvious as the color of the sky.

"So then we were finally off to the Shrieking Shack to find Draco's mumsie and papa and we ran into Bellatrix Lestrage and she told Draco to go back and find Potter, but I had just talked him out of that! You see, I did more babysitting during the Battle than anything else, dear judges of the Wizengamot. And I had _finally_ talked him back into continuing toward the Shrieking Shack when all hell broke loose…" suddenly he trailed off. "Mulciber killed Tracey Davis. She was a Slytherin in our year, a half-blood. Really, a smart girl; she could have done anything, she was so ambitious. And like that," he snapped, "she was dead. Theodore Nott killed Mulciber to avenge her. Then Rowle went after Theo. Then Nott Senior came in to defend his son. Nott Senior fell, protecting his only child. And then the grounds became very quiet and the Dark Lord's forces pulled back," the court listened to Zabini's voice, transfixed. "And we were trying to get out of there, we really were, and then that bastard Amycus Carrow was carving up some Gryffindor girl's back like it was some fucking Halloween pumpkin and I just—I hated the bastard—I Stunned him. Three times, actually, for good measure," his cocky grin returned to his face.

"So, you freed the Carrows, only to incapacitate Amycus Carrow?" asked a judge incredulously.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Zabini insincerely apologized, causing the judge to deeply frown. "Was it unclear how I phrased that? Because I thought I was quite direct." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now where was I? Oh yes: Halloween pumpkins. And so we took the girl into the Carrows' office and fixed her up, because she was bleeding _everywhere_ and she was probably going to die if we didn't do _something_. And we… we dumped her out in the hallway so someone could find her and bring her to Madam Pomfrey," he lied, glancing up and meeting Astoria's gaze.

"According to Draco Malfoy's testimony, Miss Astoria Greengrass found you and Mr. Gregory Goyle in Mr. Carrow's office," said one judge. Zabini looked back toward Astoria. From his cell in Azkaban, he had no idea of what was told of him at Malfoy's trial; he was trying to protect Astoria.

"Oh," was all he said. There was an awkward pause until he plowed, determined not to let a judge intervene in his story. "Then we all heard the Dark Lord's voice saying that Potter was dead, so Draco, Goyle, and I had to go out of the grounds and reunite with our _master_," he sneered.

"When did you take the Mark, Mr. Zabini?"

"The summer before my seventh year."

"Why?"

"I was bored," he shrugged, "and tired of being underestimated. I have a very particular set of skills that can prove quite beneficial," he added.

"And what are these skills?"

"Charms and good looks," he grinned. Astoria groaned. That bloody _wanker_. "I will continue: but by the time we got back to the grounds, another battle had begun. So, I said fuck it and just started firing spells."

"At who?"

"Everyone."

"Everyone?"

"Anyone."

"Why? Why fire without discrimination?" This question seemed to catch Zabini off-guard.

"I honestly don't even know," he said very softly. "But I didn't get far," he recovered, "because some prick Stunned me. And then when I woke up and discovered that my wand was gone, I tried to get up and then some spell came out of nowhere and cut my neck." He tilted his head back to show the shiny pink scar that went from behind his ear, along his jawline, and across his neck before disappearing down his shirt. "Hopefully it'll impress the witches," he said, but he had lost his arrogance and the line came off more pathetically than he probably had hoped. "And then it was over. Finally, after a hellish year, it was over and an Auror hauled me into the Hospital Wing and then… then they said because I had the Mark, I was going straight to Azkaban." The look in his eyes said it all: what happened in Azkaban was impossible to describe with words.

"You could have switched sides during the Battle. The Malfoys did. Why didn't you?"

"Blimey," Zabini slapped his hand to his forehead. "I must have completely forgotten to check that off my to-do list _as I was running around for my life_." Daphne placed her head in her hands and began to softly cry.

"No further questions, Mr. Zabini. The court will adjourn momentarily to determine your guilt."

"Daphne, Daph, please do not cry," Astoria rubbed her sister's back.

"All along," she hiccupped, "I thought he was at least _decent_ and in the end, he had the Mark like the rest of them. How could I have been so _stupid_ and _blind_? _Merlin_, I actually thought he was going back for Creevey. I let him go back! I can't believe I was so _foolish_… I feel like an idiot!"

"Daphne, it is not your fault. He fooled everyone, that is what Zabini is best at doing…"

"But I knew that, Tori!" she began to sob again. "I knew exactly what he was capable of. I _know_ what he does and how he does it and I let myself be a pawn in his games… he _played_ me and stringed me on… all along, I thought he was at least _decent_ and now they are going to throw him back into Azkaban!" her back shook with her quiet weeping.

"I do not think they will. After what he did for Bell, and he spent most of his time trying to get out of Hogwarts. He was not there by choice. Plus, they let Malfoy off, so it would be a little inconsistent if they gave Zabini a heavy sentence," Astoria said, not sure if she was consoling or just upsetting Daphne even more.

The judges deliberated over a half-hour, which was more than the time it took to decide Parkinson's and Goyle's fates combined.

"We, the Warlocks of the Wizengamot, find Blaise Salvatore Zabini guilty of Dark dalliance in the Dark Arts, use of the Cruciatus and Imperius Curses, acceptance of the Dark Mark, and unreasonable use of magical force. Mr. Zabini will donate half of his trust funds toward various charities. The Warlocks of the Wizengamot have determined that Mr. Zabini merits two years in Azkaban…"

The courtroom erupted and Astoria was on her feet. Daphne's sobs were lost in the outcry in the courtroom.

"They cannot do that!" Astoria protested. "They are trying to make an example of Zabini when Malfoy got away with much more. It is not fair!"

Zabini could hardly move. An Auror magically rebound his hands and began to lead him out of the courtroom. His eyes were wide and he stumbled as if he could not believe it, that he too thought he would be slapped with a fine, but not Azkaban, _not Azkaban_. Suddenly, Daphne was pushing past Astoria.

"Blaise Zabini, you bloody _fool!_" Daphne howled with tears streaming down her face. "Why do you have to be such an arrogant prat?" she pounded on his chest. "After everything, you just talk your way into trouble, and for what, Blaise?" she sobbed. "How could you? How _could_ you?" she completely broke down sobbing, unable to contain herself any longer.

"Daphne, Daphne, just listen to me, _please_ just listen to me: I'm sorry, alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he suddenly panicked, all coloring fading from his face. "Listen, Daphne, I need to tell you something…"

"Just _don't_," Daphne cried. "It's too late." She turned on her heel and left Zabini.

"I can't go, you can't make me," he suddenly began to struggle against the Auror.

"Don't make this harder, kid…"

"Where's my mother? Mother! Mum!" he called out, his voice cracking. Mrs. Zabini suddenly appeared and wrapped her arms around her son's tall frame. She was so beautiful that everyone seemed transfixed by the woman, holding her son as he finally broke down into sobs.

"Don't make me go back… Mum, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, Mum, don't make me go back. Please, I'll do anything, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Mum…"

There was no need to stay and witness anymore.

When they arrived at the Greengrass Estate, Daphne stormed into her room, yanked out the earrings that she had worn since Christmas, and demanded that Astoria to get rid of them for her.

"But why?"

"I don't want them anymore, alright? I just… I was such a _fool_," she began to sob again and after that, she was inconsolable and insisted on being alone. The house was quiet. The piano would not be played for weeks.

* * *

_(May 15, later that evening)_

Theodore Nott showed up on her front door with two fat volumes in tow. He ran his piano hands over the spines of the books before handing them to Astoria with no formalities.

"Read them," he ordered, his grey-brown eyes never quite meeting her face before turning on his heel toward the bright sunshine of the Lake District. Astoria watched him take a few steps across the front lawn with his head bowed. He needed a haircut, the ends of his brown hair twisting at the nape of his neck from spending too much time wandering around his precious, windy moors. She started to glance down at the books when he turned back to her.

"I am sorry," he said.

"For what?" Astoria asked, narrowing her eyes.

"You are the one who wanted the truth," he snapped, then softened guiltily. "Your truth is in there," he pointed to the books. Astoria looked at the covers: _The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche_ and _Hitler: a Study in Tyranny_. "You are a bright witch; you will find the connection," he looked at her with an odd sort of nostalgia. "And when you finish reading and find the truth that you so badly want, Owl me. Or don't. I would not blame you." Then he left and she watched him walk the long expanse of the Greengrass promenade before he crossed the property line and Apparated away. Only then did she shut the door.

* * *

_(May 16)_

That morning, Pansy Parkinson was found hanging in her cell by her bed sheets. Gregory Goyle, who had witnessed her final struggle and decision to end her life from the cell across from her, went completely comatose and was brought to St. Mungo's until he came out of shock. (Only he never would. He would die, forgotten and alone, a year and a half later, with only a small column hidden on page 6 on the _Prophet_ as notice.)

Daphne had not exited her room. Astoria did not know when she would come out.

"Where did you get these books?" Victor asked, narrowing his eyes.

"They are not mine," Astoria's uncle drawled, looking up from the newspaper for a short second to glance at the two volumes that had remained untouched since Astoria left them on a coffee table the day before.

"Well, whose are they?"

"Astoria's, I would assume."

"Astoria, are these yours?" Victor asked, seemingly on edge.

"No, they are Theodore's. He loaned them to me."

"For the record, I still do not trust him," Alastair waggled his finger, "_despite _what he has done for you."

"Well, _I_ trust him," Astoria responded petulantly.

"And why would Nott give you those books?"

"I am not quite sure. The truth, he said. An explanation," Astoria said a little quieter.

"Then I guess you ought to read them."

"Yes, you should. You should read them, Astoria," Victor said quietly, his face pallid. "Read them and decide if you still trust your friend. Because the names on those books…" he choked on his words. "Just read them."

* * *

_(May 17)_

Daphne came out of her room that day, sat at the piano for five minutes, broke out in sobs again, and ran back to her room. Dop had taken to delivering meals upstairs to the eldest Greengrass girl. Astoria hardly knew what to do: if it was better to give her older sister space or if she needed comfort and company. If the latter, how to go about doing it? Tears made Astoria feel especially uncomfortable, but it pained her to know that her sister was suffering. Astoria was lost in these thoughts when Alastair approached her.

"Why do I have the inkling that these books have not moved, Astoria?" her uncle asked. She gave a noncommittal shrug in reply. "Victor seems to think you should. And he has excellent taste, mind you," he added lightly. Astoria chewed on her lip. "Well, this is odd. I have never come across a book that Astoria Greengrass will not read."

"What if I do not like it?"

"The book?"

"The truth." Her uncle paused before replying.

"Well, do you want to know the truth?"

"Yes…"

"Then read the books."

"But…"

"But if you do not like the truth, that is something you are going to have to deal with, Astoria," Alastair said in a steely voice. "In my experience, I have found that the truth goes down like coffee without sugar: always bitter, but you grow accustomed to it." Astoria could not respond. "And you will grow accustomed to it. You will manage, as you always do."

Victor, who witnessed the exchange in the hallway, raised a brow at his partner.

"Comforting words," he said sardonically. "So inspirational."

"I know. I should get an award or something."

* * *

_(May 18)_

"Still haven't read them?" Victor came into the sitting room with a mug of tea. Astoria shook her head. "I figured you haven't. Which was why I brought you this," he put the mug down in front of her. Astoria glanced up at him. "You are going to read those books. Now."

"You have no right—"

"Yes, I do have the right to tell you what to do because I am family, whether you accept it or not. And as family, I have your best interests in mind," he stubbornly continued with his Gryffindor bravery. "Adolf Hitler," he picked up one book, "is considered the most evil man of all humankind in the Muggle world. And this man, Friedrich Nietzsche, was a philosopher whose words were twisted by the Nazis—that is, Hitler's followers—to justify the murder of six million people. History, Muggle or Wizard, has a tendency to repeat itself." He set the book on Hitler down in Astoria's hands with an air of disgust and flipped through the book on Nietzsche.

"'Let us speak thereof, ye wisest ones, even though it be bad," he began to read. "'To be silent is worse; all suppressed truths become poisonous.'"

"I disagree."

"That is all fine and dandy. Either way, now that I have tickled your curiosity, you will read the books." He smoothed her hair affectionately and left the room with the book open. Astoria craned to catch a few extra words, sighed, and then placed the book in her lap. She flipped to the first page and began to read.

* * *

_(May 19)_

Daphne had managed to stay out of her room most of the day, but oftentimes began to quietly cry. Victor had taken to keeping Daphne occupied. He suggested it may be fun to redecorate her room, but Astoria knew Daphne well enough to know it would only take a few days before Daphne completed that task and would need something new to do. Astoria had still not found the words to help her sister and it began to frustrate her. Why was Daphne so upset? Certainly the imprisonment of her friends was sad, but Daphne's grief was beyond that. She was never close to Goyle and she had pulled away from Parkinson. And Zabini… well, Astoria believed that she was severely disappointed in him. Perhaps she was upset that the Wizengamot had punished Zabini unfairly. But really, Astoria was too involved in reading Nietzsche to give more thought to those matters.

"I think my brain has melted," Astoria said very seriously at dinner the next day after they forcefully pried Nietzsche's complete works from her hands.

"Just be glad you are not reading it in the original German," Victor smiled pleasantly.

"I do not even know German," Astoria stared at her soup bowl.

"You _look_ like your brain has melted," Daphne commented flippantly.

"And you look like you have not showered in a day," Astoria quickly replied. Daphne's lower lip began to tremble.

"I am sorry that I am a human being morning the loss of our friends instead of burrowing my face in some stupid books, trying to find a truth that will probably do more harm than good. Now if you will excuse me, I have lost my appetite," she stormed from the room.

It was awkwardly silent until Alastair broke into a slow clap.

"I _told _you Nietzsche was wrong," Astoria glared at Victor, feeling guilt grow in her stomach.

"_Not _the appropriate reaction," Victor hissed at his partner and Alastair merely shrugged. "What is _wrong _with this family?"

"I sincerely hope you are not expecting an answer to that question," Astoria sighed, stirring your soup. "Even if there was an answer, I could not give it to you. Melted brain, you know." Alastair nearly choked on his soup, laughing at Astoria's joke.

"You have a sense of humor when your brain has melted," he coughed into his napkin while swatting off Victor's hand patting his back.

"Brilliant. Am I more likeable when I cannot even think straight? Everyone says I am such a snob," she complained moodily, bolting from the table. Victor turned toward Alastair.

"I repeat: what is _wrong_ with this family?"

"Female hormones?" Alastair guessed, returning to his soup.

* * *

_(May 20)_

"Nope, give me that," Victor demanded.

"_No_," Astoria clutched the book on Hitler. "You _told_ me to read it!"

"And you have also spent the past 48 hours reading Nietzsche, which means that your brain _is _probably mush, and you need a break before you read this."

"But you told me to read it!" she protested, too tired to come up with a cleverer retort.

"I know I did," Victor said more calmly. "But this book is also about the man who ordered the death of six million people. He tried to eradicate a _race._ Yeah, sound familiar?" he asked when he saw her eyes go wide. "And it is going to be difficult to read and stomach and then find the truth you are looking for. So, I will give you the book tomorrow because after you read this, everything is going to change," he tapped the book and turned to leave. He suddenly paused in the doorway. "What did you think of Nietzsche?"

"Brilliant, complex, beautiful wordplay. The Overman…"

"Of course," Victor sighed sadly. "The concept of the Overman seduces all Slytherins: a type of man so strong, so powerful that he is completely self-determining, free from morality, religion, and human desires…" He seemed to be lost in his thoughts. "I will give you this book after breakfast."

* * *

_(May 21)_

She made it halfway through _Hitler: a Study in Tyranny_ before she suddenly bolted to the bathroom and threw up her lunch. She brushed her teeth and splashed some water on her face. The bruises had faded and the scabs had healed over, but the memories of the battle were fresh. Only three weeks ago she had been running for her life, fighting against the Hitler of the Wizarding world… once some color had returned to her face, she returned to the book.

That night, she dreamt her parents were sent to Auschwitz and she watched them die ten different horrible deaths. In the morning she woke up with a scream in her throat, but she quickly muffled it with a pillow. She had to toss open her bedroom window and stick her head out to catch the sound of the larks in order to calm herself down. After that, she cracked open the spine of the dreadful book and did not put the book down until her eyes glanced over the final period.

* * *

_(May 22)_

It was the early hours in the morning when Victor and Alastair found her in the storage cabinet under the sink in the cellar.

"I told you she would be awake," Victor said when the light from their wands met her green eyes.

"And I told you she would be here," Alastair added.

"Come out, luv," Victor said softly. "Let's get you to bed."

"I told him he was man, not Merlin, but he thought… Merlin, he thought he was so fucking brilliant that he could string along people as they please…" she muttered frantically as Alastair scooped her up.

"Maybe you should let him explain himself," Victor suggested.

"Explain himself? _Explain himself?_" Astoria asked shrilly before rambling on as Alastair carried her to her bed and placed a mug of tea in her hand. It was not until after she downed the cup while still rambling about Nietzsche and Hitler that she recognized the odd aftertaste of the tea: Calming Draught with a few drops of Sleeping Potion. "You bastards," was all she could mutter as her eyelids drooped.

"You can write to Theodore later today," Alastair said and then she fell asleep.

Her eyelids fluttered open around noon and although she was still tired, she could not go back to sleep and instead spent her first waking hour agonizing over her letter to Theo. At last, she scribbled something quick and handed it to her owl before she lost her nerve. The reply came swiftly: he would expect her at the Nott Manor that afternoon for tea.

"Tell me I am wrong," she said when he opened the door. "Tell me I have misinterpreted everything and that the truth I have created is actually a lie. Please tell me I am wrong, Theo. I really want to be wrong and that does not happen too often."

"Like I said before: I am sorry, Tori," he said quietly.

"Do not call me that."

"Let me explain," he said quickly, anticipating her indignation. "Just let me explain to you why I did what I did… what I did to you, to your family… I did not mean… You deserve better…But Merlin, I _killed_ for you. I am a _murderer,_ the one thing I swore I would not be other than a Death Eater… I am no better than my father… I kept my damn secrets and I do not want to bury them with me like my father did…"

This new side of Theo struck her: there he was, stripped of all pretenses, ready to tell her everything. He seemed so genuinely remorseful on his doorstep with dark bags under his eyes and his hair in even further disarray.

"You need a haircut," she said to cut off his stammered rambling.

"Yes, I suppose I do," he said. She walked into the dark house without invitation, navigating her way into the tea parlor and forcing herself to sit, even though she felt the old anger boil up inside of her. She poured steaming water for the both of them and accordingly added sugar and cream before meeting his nervous gaze.

"Now, _explain_."

* * *

_(May 23)_

"Talk to her."

"No."

"_Talk to her."_

_ "No."_

"You are her uncle."

"You are much better at these things than I am."

"You are her uncle."

"I am not good at talking to her. You see what always happens."

"Alastair…"

"Victor…"

"Talk to her."

"But—"

"You know I am right. Go."

"…now?"

"Now."

"I would pay good money to find out how we function as partners."

"Nonsense, you are the most frugal man I know. Besides, you know the answer to that."

"I do?"

"Do not change the subject, you snake. Go talk to her. Yes, go on now."

"For your information, I resent you right now."

"I love you too."

Alastair Greengrass found his niece on the old wooden swing on the hill at the edge of the property. The day before she had returned to the house with a blank face, refused dinner, and left the house early that morning to go on a walk without breakfast. From the telescope on the west tower of the house, Alastair kept an eye on her every few hours. Now, it was late afternoon and she had not even come back for lunch. Victor was probably right—that he was her uncle, one of the few members of her family alive and on her side—but Alastair had been so out of touch with his family that he hardly knew what to do with Astoria. Daphne was easy enough to read, but Astoria was a bit of a wild card, probably the most intimidating 16-year-old he had ever met (besides himself).

"Astoria," he began. It seemed like a good place to start, with her name. She looked up from the spot she stared at on the ground.

"Yes?" she asked dully, her eyes never quite meeting his gaze.

"You missed lunch."

"Why, I did." It was not the icebreaker he had hoped. He shuffled his feet for a moment, trying to kick off the earth that clung to his formerly well-polished shoes. "Did you require something?"

"Victor said I should come talk to you."

"What is there to talk about?" she asked, her eyes becoming sharper and posture defensive.

"Is there anything you want to talk to me about?"

"No."

"Good," Alastair clapped his hands together. That was easier than he thought…

"Is there anything _you_ want to talk to _me_ about?" Astoria asked him, taking him by surprise. "Perhaps why you abandoned the family? Or maybe how you recognized my bruises from the Cruciatus Curse? Or what you were doing during the war?" Her cold and calculating gaze made it clear that she was demanding an exchange of information, information he did not want to give up.

"Everyone has their secrets, Astoria," he sighed.

"And you do not think I know that as well as you?" she arched her brow. "Then why are you prodding? You are not my—"

"Do not. Finish. That sentence." She tore her gaze away from him guiltily. He toyed with the pocket watch his father had given him on his seventeenth birthday. "You have not eaten all day."

"I was not hungry."

"Supper is served in two hours. I will see you then," he ordered. His niece seemed surprised for a moment, then shrugged.

"Fine."

"Good talk."

"Oh yes, let's do it again." He met her gaze for a moment, hearing the sarcasm in her voice, but found that her eyes were laughing a little. If Victor asked, they had a good talk.

"Did Mr. Nott explain himself?" he asked at the last moment.

"Theo?" she wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Yes, he did. He explained everything."

"Have you talked with him since?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I am simply trying to wrap my head around everything."

"Alright, but kindly multitask and eat and think at the same time," Alastair said, causing a fleeting grin to break across his niece's face.

"Good talk."

"Oh yes, let's do it again," he mimicked her.

"Actually, I think I will come back to the house now," she lifted herself from the swing. As they walked, he instinctively put an arm around Astoria's shoulders; she stiffened for a moment and then leaned into him. She was so little, only sixteen, the last of his family, and on his side…

"I am sorry I left the family," he said, even though he only half meant it because it was only half true that he left the family. Her celery green eyes stared up at him for a moment.

"It is alright," she said. "In the end, you came back. And I believe that is what matters." Alastair felt his throat tighten.

"You are a pretty damn good kid, you know that?" he asked and she rolled her eyes.

"Please, I am hardly a kid…"

* * *

_(May 24)_

Astoria opened her eyes. She was not in her room. She poked her head out of the covers to see Daphne debating what to wear.

"Did I wake you?" Daphne asked. Astoria shook her head no.

"Thanks for letting me sleep with you."

"You're welcome."

"Your room looks nice. I like the mirror."

"Victor found it at an auction. There are so many lately since a lot of families have to sell their property to pay off fines they owe to the Ministry for war crimes."

"I am sorry," the guilt she had buried suddenly jumped out of her stomach. "I knew you were sad, I just did not know what to say or do…"

"I know. It's alright, Tori."

"No, it is not," Astoria shook her head.

"It will be, though. We are both recovering, trying to forgive and forget. It's alright. Now come here and give me a hug." Astoria got off the bed and wrapped herself into Daphne's arms. "How's Theo doing?"

"Not very well."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Not for a few days."

"But you got your answers?"

"Yes."

"Forgive him, Astoria. You are all he has left," Daphne gently smoothed her hair. It made her sleepy all over again. "Promise me you'll think about it, at least."

"I will."

* * *

_(May 22)_

"Tell me I am wrong," she said when he opened the door. "Tell me I have misinterpreted everything and that the truth I have created is actually a lie. Please tell me I am wrong, Theo. I really want to be wrong and that does not happen too often."

"Like I said before: I am sorry, Tori," he said quietly.

"Do not call me that."

"Let me explain," he said quickly, anticipating her indignation. "Just let me explain to you why I did what I did… what I did to you, to your family… I did not mean… You deserve better…But Merlin, I _killed_ for you. I am a _murderer,_ the one thing I swore I would not be other than a Death Eater… I am no better than my father… I kept my damn secrets and I do not want to bury them with me like my father did…"

"You need a haircut," she said to cut off his stammered rambling.

"Yes, I suppose I do," he said. She walked into the dark house without invitation, navigating her way into the tea parlor and forcing herself to sit, even though she felt the old anger boil up inside of her.

"Now, _explain_."

"When Malfoy received the Mark, I knew it would not be long before I was forced to pick a side. I was expected to follow my father, but even he knew that I would do as I thought right. And I never got along well with my father. He was always… absent. My mother passed over Christmas when I finished my second year of school. We were close. But there was always the library and Father was never there. The books never had the answers he sought, but I… that library was my education, my lifeline," he pinched the bridge of his nose as if in pain. "And suddenly, it was not enough. I still had questions, questions that wizards wouldn't answer. So during my fifth year I started sneaking off to get books from Muggle authors, or even Muggleborn authors. Of course, I had to hide the books. One time he found them and… he was angry, to say the least. Nearly burned down the house trying to destroy the books. I think he blamed himself for Mother's death. I sure as hell did.

"By seventh year, I did not know who I wanted to be, but I knew who I didn't want to be: my father. And in order to do that, I had to avoid being a Death Eater. In a small way, he did protect me. He was the only Death Eater father to not give his son to the Dark Lord. I think he knew that Mother would have wanted me as far away from that as possible. She was… their marriage was arranged. She loved him; he respected her because she truly did bring out the best in people. I feel like she was my father's only redeeming trait.

"But anyway, I felt like there was a chance I could sway Malfoy into defying the Dark Lord. I knew he didn't have the courage, but his passivity was enough to get what I wanted. All he had to do was try to save his own ass. Goyle and Crabbe were too stupid, too unreliable. Zabini was too proud, too loud, too pompous. And then I heard whisperings that your parents were beginning to balk and I knew what was going to happen." Astoria gripped the seat tightly.

"You knew?" she growled.

"Not exact plans, but I knew they would not make it long. Honestly, Astoria, no one ever makes it long when they run. You knew as soon as they did that they wouldn't come home," Theo bristled. "Your older sister was too… soft for what I needed. I remembered she had a younger sister. She never really talked about you much before this year, but she said you were smart, uncannily smart. And you were younger, more moldable, and your loyalties were exactly where I wanted them to be. Soon after the Carrows confronted you on the train, I knew you would do quite well with us. At that point, it was only a matter of time before your parents slipped. It only took a month, didn't it?" Astoria swallowed, and he continued.

"So I cultivated you. Gave you books to make your think, I let Malfoy feed your anger and Zabini… well, that's something that must be played out on its own."

"Theo, you said you would tell me _everything_."

"But that… it's not in my power anymore. I know I am not Merlin. Telling you would be pretending otherwise. It needs to play out on its own."

"Theo."

"_Please_, Astoria. It's time will come. But right now, it would do more harm. I don't want to hurt anyone. It's not my place to interfere." Astoria sighed.

"Fine."

"But you… you, Astoria, became something so much more than just a pawn. You knew a lot about all of us, simply by watching. You had five years of dirt on us. If something had happened to you, we would have all been killed for treason."

"Like my parents."

"Most definitely."

"So why me if I was such a liability?"

"Because you could have saved us too, Tori. And you did. Malfoy, he… your opinion of him matters. You get under his skin for some reason. He would have gone overboard long before if you hadn't been able to do that."

"But I did not _do_ that on purpose!" she protested.

"It doesn't matter. He knew that we needed you as much as you needed us. He protected you too."

"I did not ask him to."

"But he did."

"In order to save himself."

"Yes, but he could have easily thrown you to the wolves. At any point he could have, but he did not."

"He let the Carrows out of the tower."

"I know."

"I _despise_ him for that."

"I know."

"Don't you?" Astoria shot the question back.

Theo was quiet for a long time. If Malfoy had not let the Carrows out, then he would not have had to save Astoria from Alecto, and then he would not be a killer, and then he would have had time to save Tracey Davis.

"I cannot. I am too angry at other things to truly despise Malfoy."

"And then Zabini!" Astoria continued to protest. "Malfoy should have gone to Azkaban, not Zabini. They made an example of him and it should have been Malfoy."

"There is nothing that can be done, Astoria," Theo said with resignation.

"How can you be so…so…"

"I just _can't_," Theo said dully.

"The books…"

"I read a lot of Nietzsche last summer. Fancied myself a bit of an Overman. It's such a seductive concept."

"You cannot be a puppeteer of other lives, Theo."

"I learned that a little late. When I read about Hitler… I saw too many parallels, parallels that made me feel uncomfortable. I could not stand by the Dark Lord with what I knew. But I wanted you to come to that decision on your own. I wanted you to really believe in what you were doing."

"But you wanted me to pick your side."

"Of course. But knowing what you know, do you regret it?"

"No. Do you regret it?"

"What?"

"You had the choice of saving me or saving Tracey. Daphne said that she always thought you would use your leverage to protect Tracey. But you picked me. Do you regret it?"

"Astoria."

"_Answer._" Theo sighed, stood up, and paced.

"There is something I need to show you," he said at last and began to walk through the house. Astoria followed him as they wound further back into a hallway. She had never seen all of the Heights manor. Theo was very protective of the gloomy house. Suddenly he stopped, staring at a painting on the wall.

Astoria's gaze fell on a woman. Hunter green eyes, kind eyes. Brown straight hair. Familiar traits, but a longer face and fuller lips. Softer. She smiled at Theo then fixed her eyes on Astoria. The eyes were unmistakable and there was a small recognition.

"Greengrass?" Astoria whispered.

"Three generations back. But she has the eyes and the complexion. The chin. The nose," Theo studied the portrait with an odd tenderness.

"Theo, who is she?"

"She is my mum," he said, his voice raspy. "I tried so hard to help her get better, and she did not. Merlin, Astoria, you look so much like her, that I could not… well, that is what I told Malfoy and he believed me well enough. The truth is that it was the truth. You are like a sister to me, you know that, Tori?"

Astoria's mind swam. His intentions were still so convoluted and what he did… she could have gotten by so much more unscathed. But he was opportunistic and did not want to go down alone. By "cultivating" her, he robbed so much of her.

"So all along you had a plan." It was a statement, not question.

"Yes," he said after a long hesitation.

"You watched it all go down; you watched my parents fall and you saw an opportunity."

"Yes. They had chosen their fate."

"And what about me? You _used_ me."

"Of course I did. We are Slytherins. It is what we do."

"You fed me to the wolves." A pause. "You manipulated me, Theo."

"Of course I did, Astoria. It was easy, almost too easy. There is a reason why books are burned. Literature is terribly potent," he mused to himself.

"And I suppose you are pleased with yourself, then."

"Well, we are alive, are we not?"

"You tell me. I cannot sleep. You shut yourself up here. And I can smell the Firewhiskey on your clothes. So do not tell me you are really alive. I will never get that year back. None of us can go back."

"I know. I am truly sorry."

"Stop saying that!"

"Why?"

"Slytherins are rarely sorry. You are not supposed to apologize," Astoria frantically gestured.

"Not until it is absolutely necessary. Not until it is worth it," he corrected her. "I hope you can forgive me. I am still trying to forgive myself."

"I… I need to think."

"I know. You can Floo home if you want." Astoria gulped and nodded. She did not respond to anyone when she arrived home, going straight upstairs to her room.

* * *

_(May 25, three days later)_

Daphne howled with laughter.

"Merlin, Salazar, and Helga Hufflepuff, did you see the look on that man's face? I would have paid a thousand Galleons to see that again!"

The two lay flopped on Astoria's bed in formal clothes. Astoria clutched her sides.

"That was _brilliant_."

The two girls had finally begun cracking down on the Greengrass finances, at last enlisting on Victor and Alastair's help to play their parts. Days before, Daphne had written letters to the companies that Thomas Greengrass had invested his money in, requesting a representative to come to the house and explain why the Greengrasses should continue to invest in the company. Daphne played the gracious host to the unsuspecting representative, inviting the poor blighter into the house with promises of tea and "delightful cranberry scones with homemade blackberry jam—just marvelous!" Alastair and Victor lurked around the house, occasionally asking a question to the representative; following the answer, they would slowly look the man or woman up and down, clearly unimpressed before sweeping out of the room. Astoria, meanwhile, sat silently and stared at the representative, occasionally jotting down notes as Daphne chirped along, feigning cluelessness at the business matters. They had just finished a particularly fantastic meeting where Astoria had abruptly decided that the family would not invest in the company, much to the representative's surprise.

"But Miss Greengrass!" he sputtered to Daphne. "It is _your_ fortune! _You_ are the one who must make the decision!"

"Oh, sir, you are quite mistaken," Daphne said sweetly, barely holding in her laughter. "Do allow me to get your cloak." The man continued to stammer, eyes wildly rolling between the two sisters, before all but running out of the house.

"What a successful day! Are you quite done sorting it all out?" Daphne asked, finally able to contain her laughter over the spectacle.

"Just have to input the new numbers and send it off to the Ministry," Astoria replied.

"I really do not think it was right of them to send an inquiry to us," Daphne thought aloud. "Clearly, our family had chosen a side. But I understand the need to be careful." Astoria made no reply. "I was thinking of visiting Ms. Zabini."

"Oh?"

"She must be lonely. I have written to Millie as well. I think she may Floo over next week." Astoria wondered since when Daphne referred to Millicent Bullstrode as "Millie" but did not question this aloud; she figured that Daphne must be lonely, especially with Astoria holing herself away for most of the month.

"I was thinking of going back to Hogwarts."

"For school next year? Oh, Astoria, you really should."

"You think so? Are you? They are going to let seventh years finish up."

"I can't go back there, Tori, you know that," Daphne said sadly. "But you should. You need to."

"I know, but I actually was not referring to that. They are looking for volunteers to help rebuild the school and I think I need to go back before I live there again. You know, to help sort things out."

"I think that's a brilliant idea," Daphne said warmly, taking her sister's hand. "I think it'll do you good. It would be difficult to go back and have everything suddenly erased, like it never happened."

"But it did."

"But it did," Daphne nodded. "Well, look at us. A bit of progress in the past month, right?"

Astoria thought. Just that morning, Daphne seemed to wipe away the last of her tears after her hands slid over the black and white keys of the piano for the first time in two weeks. It was a new tune, one Astoria had not heard before. The melody played low and slow, like a heart beat after waking up from a deep sleep, calm and resigned but still aching. Between the lingering notes were heavy silences, making her feel like she had been left out from some terrible tragedy. Then, the notes grew more rapid and solid, as if they lead up to some big, but quiet confession. Daphne bent her head over the keys, letting her tears silently fall. She was so involved in her own sadness, but also slowly starting to let it go, releasing through the notes as they built and dropped. Her loneliness had become tangible as she wrapped herself in the piano, trying to hold onto something that she perhaps never quite had in the first place. A small smile lingered on her face before it dipped into a frown, the notes once again building, becoming stronger and forceful, almost angry and indignant. She bit her lip as the notes soared and then suddenly dropped, letting go all of her anger, fading into bittersweet nostalgia of unrealized dreams and reconciliation, perhaps even forgiveness, but not quite because the tears came again so that when the final note left the piano, her back shuddered in sobs. Astoria had quietly sat beside her sister at that point and Daphne immediately clung to her sister.

"Are you alright?" It was a stupid question, but Astoria asked it anyway.

"I feel better now. I know it doesn't look like it," she sniffled. "But I do feel better."

That was that morning and for the first time in a long time, it looked as though they would be alright. Maybe it would take a bit longer to forgive, forget, and find grace, but it was a work in progress.

"We are going to be just fine," Astoria concluded, resting her head on her sister's shoulder.

* * *

_(May 26)_

Eventually, the Malfoy family fell into a rhythm. By the end of the month, all parts of the housework had been sorted, from cooking, to cleaning, and laundry. Narcissa had finally convinced Lucius to close off one of the halls that the family never went into in order to keep the house at a more manageable size. She was still in the process of convincing Lucius to sell some of the furniture in order to pay the fines, but he could only seem to process so much change at a time that Narcissa knew when she had lost the battle… for now. She seemed more content in her business, albeit a little humbled. But Draco saw that she carried herself differently, as if she really owned the house instead of her husband. As the reminders of past horrors faded, the house grew a little more comfortable.

However, they were far from being content. When Lucius was not drinking, he seemed to seek forgiveness from his wife and his son. Draco had grown apathetic. He felt like he was more of a man that his father was. At least he was changing, adapting, recognizing his own cowardice and failure and not holing himself up to drink down his sorrows. Then again, this did not stop him from smoking most nights with the Irish Auror, Killian McMorrow. When he grew restless during the day, Auror Owens would send him out almost to the edge of the property to walk within a short sprint of one of the Aurors who patrolled the rim of the Malfoy land.

Owens was the quietest, most discrete, and most paranoid Auror. The slightest odd noise would send the man into action, but when he discovered what it was—usually Lucius pounding a table in anger as he and his wife argued in hushed tones—he would slip out of the room as if he had saw nothing. Draco did not mind that the Auror made no comment on his messy family affairs. Some nights, McMorrow tried to pry it out of him, but Draco never responded to these questions.

It took him awhile to meet the early morning (midnight to six) Auror. She was as pale as a ghost with dark hair and eyes. He had gotten so tumbled up in his sheets during a nightmare that he knocked over a lamp and when he woke up, she peered over him as he frantically panted. Often he could never remember the dream, but always woke with the terrible feeling in his stomach that he had revisited scenes he was trying to forget.

"Nightmare?" she asked, her voice a smoky whisper. Draco nodded. "Go back to bed," she said as she repaired the lamp. "And try to forget."

* * *

_(May 27)_

Most days, though, it was hard. His solitude and the monotony of housework had given him too much time to let his mind wander. One day while taking his usual laps around the property, he broke into a dead sprint. The last time he had run like that was during the Battle; the time before that was after Easter Holidays, when he crashed directly into Little Greengrass and she discovered the bruises from the Cruciatus Curse that marred the skin on his chest. As he ran, he reacquainted himself with the harsh air rasping in his lungs, the sharp pains in his legs, the wind in his hair, and all the emotions that he had choked down every day. He made sure to keep in sight of the Auror patrolling the edge of the property, but continued to run until he could no longer catch all the oxygen his lungs required and slowed to a jog and then a walk. His father was not impressed.

"Malfoys do not sweat. For the love of Salazar, go take a shower."

The snide remark slid right off of Draco. After all, running was the only reason why he hadn't started screaming.

* * *

_(May 28)_

Mostly, it was hard to forget Blaise. He spent the morning of the 16th of May retching in the toilet after reading _The Daily Prophet_. His best mate, locked up in Azkaban for the next two years of his life, clearly punished to make an example for the rest of the young Death Eaters. Clearly punished for letting Draco only escape with house arrest and fines.

The next day, news of Pansy's suicide had come. The day after that, a small section that Goyle had been sent to St. Mungo's appeared. The article said that he had gone into shock, the magic coursing through his veins overtaking his body and doing something irreparable to his brain. The doctors were doubtful that he would ever recover, that he would remain comatose for an indefinite amount of time until some other ailment ended his misery.

Draco was a wreck for those three days. His mother had read the paper as well and excused him to mourn. His father tried to find the words to say but failed, instead placing a hand on his son's shoulder momentarily.

Blaise and Draco had only grown close at the end of fifth year. Draco felt far more comfortable with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, but suddenly, the young Zabini expressed an interest in him. Up until then, Blaise had been a lone-wolf, much like Nott except Blaise was constantly flocked by pretty girls that he ignored almost by principle. So, when Blaise found Draco a worthy companion, it was almost flattering. Slowly, the two figured out each other's quirks and Blaise became chattier. Somewhere between then and now, Draco realized that Blaise was the only real mate he had; everyone else was just a pawn. Oh, how they laughed over Granger's stupid hair and Weasley's stupid freckles and Potter's stupid scar. Those were the days. And it was always a sight to see when Blaise got sloshed and waxed philosophy to make all the birds sigh.

And now, two years in Azkaban. Well, shit.

"Did you know the Zabini kid?" McMorrow asked.

"He was in my year and House," Draco replied, taking a deep drag from the cigarette.

"Did you know him well?"

"Yes," Draco decided.

"Mates?"

"Yes."

"Do you think the lad deserved his sentence?"

"No."

"It seemed a bit harsh to me, too. At least the Dementors are gone."

"There are other ways to destroy a man," Draco concluded.

"Careful, that sounded like a segue into talking about our feelings."

"Thank Merlin we do not do that."

* * *

_(May 29)_

Alastair went with Astoria to Hogwarts, taking a break from his latest draft of literature supporting the freedom of House Elves. He had learned the hard way that he could not read his drafts aloud to get a sense of the wording in the house, lest Dop happen to be near the room. After the poor creature nearly shut his head in a hot oven, Alastair had learned his lesson.

Astoria paused at the end of Hogsmeade, eyeing the still crumbling castle in the distance. Her memories weighed heavily on her until she felt like she was about to burst. In a way, she did.

"We started here, at the Hog's Head, Theo and I," the words tumbled out of her mouth. Next thing she knew, she had begun to explain everything that happened in the battle, slowly retracing her steps, reliving that terrible night as she passed the broken chunks of wall and the dark stains that could never be scrubbed out of the floor and the stench of death still lingering in the air. She pointed to where Professor Lupin had fallen, to the window that Alecto Carrow threw her through, down the hallway where she ran from Yaxley, where Finnigan cried over Lavender Brown's dying frame. Nearly two hours later, she found herself on the grounds, which were still dented with gaping holes. The grass was slowly beginning to grow and cover the scars of the battle.

"Thank you for telling me," Alastair said slowly.

"I am sorry," Astoria whispered.

"Why?"

"I should not have told you that. It is not your burden to bear. I just…"

"It is alright, Astoria. It is not your burden to bear either," he quietly reassured her. "I was waiting for you to tell me. I worry about you."

"I know."

"Do you wish to go back to school?"

"I do, but I worry about Daphne being alone."

"She does not want to finish at Hogwarts?"

"She cannot come back. We are different."

"You have to come back. We will figure out a different arrangement for Daphne," Alastair said firmly. Then, looking out into the distance, "Were you aware that Mr. Nott would be here?" Astoria followed her uncle's gaze. Sure enough, there stood Theo, hair still in disarray and eyes sunken as he walked purposefully toward her.

"Mr. Greengrass, may I please talk to your niece in private?" he inquired politely. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, but he was sober at least. Alastair scrutinized him before acquiescing, rising with a reluctant sneer and a tip of his hat.

"Your uncle has the delightful quality of making me very uncomfortable and looking very classy all at the same time."

"He does not really trust you."

"Do you?" Theo shot back.

"Daphne says I should forgive you."

"Did you tell her?"

"No. But Victor seemed to have an inkling judging by the book titles."

"Can you forgive me? Tori, I—"

"Say it."

"You are my only friend. I swear, my loyalties are with you. If it was not so, I would not have told you what I had done."

"Alright."

"Pardon?" he was surprised.

"We both are a little short on companionship these days."

"You forgive me?"

"Yes," Astoria sighed, turning to the castle. "It is going to take awhile to rebuild that."

"Well, you have to start somewhere."

They stood side-by-side in the afternoon light before heading toward the castle, ready to raise their wands to mend the fissures and cracks.

* * *

_(May 30)_

All the good books in the library had been seized by the Ministry. What else was Draco supposed to do? Nott mailed him some new ones but they had really odd titles and authors that he did not recognize: _Catcher in the Rye _by J.D. Salinger_, Fight Club _by Chuck Palahniuk, and_ The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald. He saw what happened to Little Greengrass after receiving books from Nott, so he was very wary. By the end of the month, however, his boredom and curiosity overwhelmed him. He started with _Catcher in the Rye._

_ "I__f you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."_

Who the fuck was David Copperfield? By the end of the novel a few hours later, Draco still hadn't found out. He thumbed through _The Great Gatsby _and read the last line:

_ "So we beat on, boats against the currents, borne back ceaselessly into the past."_

He paused, ruminating over the final sentence. It seemed as though the characters wanted to live in the past while Draco was trying his best to forget the last two years of his life. Enthralled, he flipped to the first page.

* * *

_(May 31)_

When she walked into the house after a long stroll with Theo along the moors, she saw Alastair, Victor, and Daphne huddled around a letter.

"What is it?" she asked, sensing something was wrong.

"It is for you," Alastair said.

"You opened my mail?" she screeched, ripping the letter from his hand.

"It is from the Ministry," Victor attempted to supply.

"It is _mine_," Astoria tried to wrestle the letter open, her hands shaking with fury.

"They are charging you with use of the Cruciatus Curse and excessive use of magical force as an adult," Alastair bellowed. The letter slowly fell from her hand, twisting and twirling as it landed onto the floor.


End file.
